


Put that Piece Right Here, Even if it Doesn't Fit

by Sobari



Series: PPRH 'Verse [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Background Goodnight/Billy, Ensemble Cast, M/M, Sips on my tea of angst, Toxic Soulmate, it's actually not as angst-riden as I thought it would be, pinning, slowburn?, your soulmark appears under your soulmate's touch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 16:44:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18098204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sobari/pseuds/Sobari
Summary: “Maria always liked sugar coating things to her boy.” Nina commented dryly before anyone could butt in, “But Joshy, not everything is sunshine and rainbows. Ain't that right, gals.” She looked towards the others, drawing out sounds of agreement.“Besides,” Abigail drawled, draping a sheet over a line, “Stories are just pretty words covering up the ugliness of reality.”





	Put that Piece Right Here, Even if it Doesn't Fit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Based on this** [ **post.** ](http://pensversusswords.tumblr.com/post/148894692456/im-kinda-bored-of-soulmate-aus-but-i-really-like) Some headcanons were taken from this  [ **post** ](https://fontainebleau22.tumblr.com/post/173731193134/im-completely-sold-on-the-headcanon-that) (and the comments there, too).

He heard it many times from his mam. Things about soulmates, that is. Stories. His mam may not be the best mam in the world, but she was the best to little Joshua. She would put him on her lap and tell him how meeting your soulmate was like a puzzle fitting into place, how everything was just right, beautiful. He never questioned how she knew of this when she never found a soulmate of her own.

The other girls laugh at the thought of soulmates and the fancy stories about them.

“Who needs a stranger coming out of nowhere, claiming to be my soulmate just because my soulmark shows up under his touch.” Abigail scoffed, “That ain’t mean Ima fall for the man. Ain’t no God gonna tell me who to fall for and who to settle down with. Now you listen here, Joshy,” She jabbed her delicate finger in his direction, “Soulmarks are like chains, bound to ‘em. It ain’t a good thing, boy.”

Joshua opened his mouth, “But mam said–”

Another girl laughed, “Maria is a dreamer, sweetie. But she ain’t got a soulmate. Anyone stuck here ain’t gonna get a soulmate. And if we ever do, they won’t be nice like those stories yer mummy tells ya. Ain’t nothin’ special ‘bout soulmates but marks sayin’ ya belong together, which is downright stupid if ya ask me.”

“I’ve heard that Madam would kick you out if you have a soulmark.”

Excited hushed whispers of the newer girls scrambled in for some gossip, “Really?! And why’s that?”

“Oh, somethin’ ‘bout bad for business. Surely, you’ve heard ‘bout that little lassie, Isabel, from big ol’ Geld–”

“Girls.” Abigail pressed her lips together, tilting her head towards Joshua, “Not in front of the boy. His ma won’t appreciate it if her boy can’t sleep at night because of some silly spook.”

Via scoffed and stuck her nose in the air, “And what’s Maria gonna do? Weep on me? Ow, Jess!” She scowled at the woman who pinched her, but she kept her mouth shut and went to go dust out the dry sheets with a temper at her heels. Little Joshua never liked her too much.

Joshua fiddled with the soapy fabric in his hands and shyly looked up as the other ladies, "Mam said that one day, you would find a soulmate and be happy…" He trailed off when the girls sighed exasperatedly at the boy’s claim while Via threw back her head and cackled.

“Maria always liked sugar coating things to her boy.” Nina commented dryly before anyone could butt in, “But Joshy, not everything is sunshine and rainbows. Ain't that right, gals.” She looked at the others, drawing out sounds of agreements.

“Besides,” Abigail drawled, draping a sheet over a line, “Stories are just pretty words covering up the ugliness of reality.”

**✢✢✢✢**

His mam told him that he was going to be a big brother soon. His tiny hands poked at her growing belly in awe. He was going to be a great big brother; he promised his mam. He was going to protect his sister and his mam, he announced proudly.

“We’re gonna be cowboys.” Joshua whispered loudly, much to his mam’s amusement.

His head whipped up at her, his green eyes shined with curiosity, “What’s her name, Mam?”

She pursed her lips thoughtfully before turning her eyes down on the boy, “Well, what do you think, Josh?”

His eyes widen comically for a moment before his eyes squinted in a way it usually does when he’s thinking hard, “...Ethel.” He uttered breathlessly, remembering it from some book one of the girls had. His eyes darted to his mam for confirmation.

She raised an eyebrow, “Ethel?” After a brief pause, she nodded in agreement, “Yes, Ethel. That’s a lovely name.”

Joshua beamed proudly, “I picked it!”

When his mam told him how some people don’t have a soulmate, or by her words, ain’t connected to that special someone, little Joshua asked, “Ain’t that lonely, mam?”

She smiled at her little boy and planted a kiss on his forehead, “You don’t need a soulmate to be happy, Joshua. It’s a wonderful part of life you’ll miss out on, but s’not everythin’.”

He curled up next to her on their little bed, so small in her arms, “Mam, are there bad soulmates?”

She bit the inside of her cheeks and then spoke slowly, “Yes… there are. Like there are good people and bad people.”

Joshua visibly frowned, “If I have a soulmate, I hope she’s good.”

“M’sure they will be.” Maria smiled softly, cupping his cheeks between her palms, “You be sure to treat ‘em right, Josh. Ain’t worth it if it’s not a two-way street, ya hear?”

“I always treat people right! _Good people._ ” He huffed, scrunching up his nose when she bopped it playfully.

She laughed, “That’s my boy. Now sleep, mo stoirín.”

**✢✢✢✢**

Ethel liked it when Joshua sang to her. She would coo and grabble nonsense, her tiny, stubby hands reached out to him, jerking in the air wildly. Joshua would guess she was trying to dance. Now wasn’t that a funny sight.

Ethel screamed and cried a lot. Joshua would tell her that cowboys don’t cry. She would never be a proper cowboy if she kept this up. She usually cried a lot if she wanted something. And that something was mam. But mam wasn’t around till later. So Joshua was left on his own, trying to please his needy sister until then.

Then Ethel stopped being noisy altogether, and Mam still hasn't come back yet.

**✢✢✢✢**

They buried his mam and his sister when he was only a wee boy at the age of ten. He sat at their graves all day, resorting to screams and teeth at whoever tried to pry him from his spot.

It was only the Madam Flo, who coaxed him inside. It was the only time she was gentle with him.

Madam Flo was a stone, tough, straitlaced, businesswoman. She knew how to keep her girls in good health and her customers down in the bar, happy. Affections and endearments weren't a thing Madam Flo would do or show. But she was caring in her own way even if it was rough around the corners.

She didn’t show pity for Joshua nor cried for his mam and his sis, but she kept him busy, got him working and learning. She taught him the harshness of the world where his mam was too deep underground to do so.

“Learn to know when to keep your head down, boy.” She once said as she whacked the back of his knees with her demon stick, as Joshua liked to call it, “It’s not weakness. It’s giving yourself a chance to live on another day for something greater.” He failed to stifle a cry when she whacked them again, “Remember that.”

Madam Flo never spoke about soulmates. Foolish thoughts, she once said and then proceeded to drop a shitload of things that needed mending in Joshua’s arms. He never talked about soulmates in her presence again.

The girls taught him how to read some things with the books that were around. They say his penmanship is horrendous, though. Not that he cared. If you can read it, it's good enough. Joshua learned how to gamble with the people downstairs when a few men decided it would be funny to teach the runt a few tricks. And it was funny, watching him fumble around as his face went red with anger and embarrassment. Until he got good at it.

He also entertained the people with magic tricks he had picked up over the years, especially children. He liked entertaining the little ones since they’re so eager to see more and try to figure out his tricks. (Sometimes, he wondered if Ethel would’ve liked them, too.)

And much to Madam Flo’s distaste, he was also prone to getting into fights.

To be clear, it wasn't his fault if a sore loser ended up throwing the first punch. Or if some clients were getting inappropriately rough with one of the girls, the next thing he would kiss would be the boy's fists. Of course, Madam Flo would have to clean up his mess and then proceed to give him a list of duties to perform as punishment after giving said client a piece of her mind. So it was kind of a win/win in Joshua’s opinion.

Sometimes, he would whisper in the ears of men who had a more unique taste. The girls taught him how, with the right tone, the right words, and the right movements, anyone could be bewitched — hook, line, and sinker.

And if he managed to come out in the end with a bit more money, then he was given initially, well… He could only shrug innocently.

**✢✢✢✢**

He got his first gun when some foolish drunkard thought it was a good idea to place his Baby Dragoon on the table. Needless to say, with a little bit of this and that, Joshua ended up scoring both the money and the gun. The only problem was that he didn't know how to use it, and there was no one around to help him.

In the end, Madam Flo taught him how to use it to avoid him accidentally shooting her girls and her clients with his fumbling about like a newborn lamb, she had scoffed. She made him promise never to use it unless necessary.

“We have enough trouble as it is, boy.” She said sternly, “We can’t have you offing someone and then having his friends and the sheriff swarming the place. Do you understand?”

17-year-old Joshua nodded absentmindedly, used to the Madam’s scolding.

Her eyes narrowed sharply at him, prompting him to nod frantically, not wanting the back of his knees whacked, "Yes, Madam!"

The woman looked him over one more time before turning back to the back door, “Put that thing away and come along, the girls need their hair pinned up. And do clean yourself up, you look like you had a dust bath.” She shook her head in disgust before going back inside.

**✢✢✢✢**

It all happened so fast, Joshua didn't know what was happening until a gunshot rang loud, followed by a scream. Red was pooling on the ground where the whoremonger laid, seconds later. Sarah's warm honey brown eyes were now cold with terror. Whether it was because the guy was dead at her feet, what had happened seconds ago, or the fact that he just killed a man, he didn't get to ponder too long on it.

“You foolish boy!” Madam Flo whipped him around and backhanded him hard enough to send him stumbling. The gun slipped from his grip as he brought up a hand instinctively to his smarting cheek.

“M-Madam… H-he–” He tried to explain, but the woman was having none of it.

"Shut up, Faraday." She hissed. Sarah decided it was the perfect time to start sobbing. A Pitiful noise clawed its way up her throat as her fingers dug into her collarbone.

"Abigail, get her out of here and calm her down." Madam Flo ordered.

A woman in the crowd hurried over and ushered the brunette away. Joshua stared at his boots as her wailing faded down the hall. Madam Flo’s head whipped around and snapped at the whispering girls to disappear; no one wanted to push her luck, so they complied as fast as a rabbit.

He watched quietly as her heels approached him, flinching when she reached down and collected his gun. But all she did was pressed it into his hands was a firm stare.

“Gather your possessions and get out.”

His eyes widened as he started to protest, “But Madam Flo! He– The crazy bastard–!”

“Right now, the only crazy bastard I see is you!” Her voice rose over his, “You think the others wouldn’t hear the gunshot and the screams? What were you thinking, boy?! No, I don’t want to hear it. Go grab your things and get out! Away from this town!” Joshua continued to stay in one place, looking at the Madam with distraught on his face.

Madam Flo snapped back with impatience, “Get a move on, boy!”

He scrambled out of the room and dashed into his own as the Madam shouted for the cleanup boy. He shoved a sewing knit into a random bag, his tin of savings, and a deck of cards before pulling out the sewing kit to check the contents. Joshua felt a tad bit better catching sight of the pearl-handled scissors. With shaking hands, he closed it and placed it inside of the bag. He searched around the room for anything else. Like clothes. That's one thing, yeah. Ammo, that's another. He wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers, running them through his hair as his heart pounded loudly; his adrenaline was still running on high.

“Don’t pace yourself into my floor.” The Madam impatiently looked him over from the doorway, “Are you done? Then let’s go. Hurry on!” Joshua didn’t dare let out a peep as he put on his hat and quickly followed her down the stair and to the back like a lost pup.

Another girl (Eleanor, his helpful mind supplied) shoved a bag into his other hand, “Stay safe, Joshy." Her hands lingered on his arm before she scrambled back upstairs. Her blue eyes glanced back at him, pitifully. If Madam Flo noticed the extra bag, she didn't say anything.

A horse was waiting for them when they got outside. A horse Joshua was sure belonged to the dead whoremonger.

“Take this road and ride as fast as you can.” Madam Flo instructed as he climbed on the spotted horse. He briefly wondered if the horse knew that he murdered its rider. Still, he nodded silently at the Madam.

“And Faraday? Don’t ever come back.”

He rode long and hard without rest, his bag of possession on one side, and a bag of food and water in the other. He was so filled with anger, hurt, and confusion that he didn't want to admit that Madam Flo just saved his life until a day later when he opened the sack that Eleanor gave to him.

He stared at the contents in the bag. All thoughtfully picked in a short amount of time. There was a crumpled up piece of paper in the middle of it all with a blotchy, hasty written word:  _‘Goodbye.’_

A heavy weight lodged between his ribs, melting its way into his heart as the realization came to him, what he did. And it just burned.

He was eighteen when he first killed a man.

**✢✢✢✢**

He ditched the horse after a while and jumped into war at the first chance he got. The year was 1864. The year people died left and right. The stench blood and gunpowder lingered in his nostrils. He let himself get lost within the war.

They talk about the Angel of Death, the legend sharpshooter, who shared a name with the common phrase of the evening. Joshua listened from time to time, but Joshua knew well not to let himself get too sucked up in stories.

A fellow, blue-eyed soldier sat right next to him, greeting him and then introduced himself as John. And Joshua would admit, he was immediately attracted to him. It was something that pulled him towards the man; he wasn't too bad on the eyes either.

Apparently, the universe likes to make his life difficult at any given chance. He can’t really say he welcomed it all that much.

It happened when John gripped the back of his neck to shake him for a joke Joshua delivered. One moment he was laughing with the others, and the next, he felt like he was punched in the gut, winded with an unknown emotion– emotions? It was dizzying. Something under his sternum pulled uncomfortably. It tugged at his chest until it felt as if his heart was going to be ripped out of his chest and leave his carcass behind.

“Faraday?” John looked at him in concern. Joshua reached out and gripped the man’s shoulder to steady himself. The sharp tugging pulled taut once and then lessened as if a rope gained a few more inches. It loosened even more, and it was like everything was alright with the world.

The man took a sharp intake of breath and pulled Joshua closer. A stupid little thought in his head noticed how perfectly he fit against the man’s front. John’s chest rumbled as he spoke to the others, “I’m taking him back to rest.”

Joshua bit back a whine when John pried him off to adjust his grip on the boy. He wanted to say that he got two workable legs, thank you very much. But the protest died in Joshua’s throat when John’s hand rested on the back of his neck.

Joshua kept his eyes on his boots as he was lead away, being careful not to tumble over. John's hand never left his neck, not that he was complaining. But Joshua tried resisted the strange urge to lean into his warm touch if him leaning against John was any indication that he was trying. He had been so focused on his feet and the strange euphoric feeling in his head that he never noticed John glancing at his neck every so often.

Once they were alone, John gripped his face with both hands and tilted it up, “Can you feel it?”

His eyes squinted in confusion, “Feel…?” He blinked away the dizziness, “Feel what? You grippin’ my face?”

“No, no. Not that.” Before Joshua could voice his confusion, John took off his coat until he was down to his just shirt and snatched up his hand.

“W-wha–” The boy gaped at John’s strange actions. But his words died down when the man pressed his hand against his shoulder. Joshua watched in astonishment as a mark inked John’s skin in the shape of a spade. He snatched his hand away in that shocking moment, watching it slowly faded away. Then he pressed against the spot with one finger, watching soundlessly as the mark seeped back on his skin, feeling it pulse warmly. The skin beneath his fingers shivered slightly.

His breath hitched when fingers brushed the back of his neck, but the feeling was now pleasant, warm, not at all like the impact from before. But this time, he did not lean into it, now that he knew what was going on. Joshua stood firmly against the ground as he fought the urge to give into the hand at the back of his neck.

“What… does mine look like?” Joshua dared to ask; his voice was hushed as if afraid to know. He refused to acknowledge that he was scared. He didn’t want to take that step forward; he didn’t want to be apart of this. But the gentle reassurance sweeping over him made his concerns disappear. Warmth tingling along his spine, spreading down his toes as John stroked his neck. He was almost floating.

It was exhilarating.

Maybe, Joshua thought. Maybe he can try.

John smiled at him, one hand caressing his face. It felt so right, “Beautiful.”

**✢✢✢✢**

The war was finally over in 1865.

John barely waited, wasted from the celebration, he mashed his lips against Joshua’s before they could get the door open. Joshua himself had no issues about making out in the hallways, but for decency sake, he managed to get them in the room and closed the door behind them.

It was a mess of mouth over each other, limbs flailing wildly to tear their clothes off. Joshua fell onto the bed, and with how John quickly followed after him, he hardly needed any convincing to get him to climb on after.

Later that night, John gently pressed a kiss against his mark, making his chest warm and giddily. He turned around from where he laid, a hint of familiar mischief shone in his eyes as he leaned in, his breath ghosting on John’s curled lips. Then he quickly shifted, pressing his lips against the man’s shoulder, his tongue darted out to lick it.

John jokingly called him disgusting, but he shut up when his soulmate left trails of kisses up his neck, planting a small kiss on his lips. The man pulled him in for another one, deepening it, slowly tasting him.

It was just  _right._ This was what his mam was talking about. Like a final piece in the puzzle.

And he was happy.

**✢✢✢✢**

They traveled together for months after. Joshua managed to get a young stallion he named Jack (It started out as a joke, really) not too long after the war. A devil's horse, John kept saying. Joshua only shrugged. If you treat Jack right, Jack won't try to kill you. Joshua even made a joke about them being the Three Js once.

And much to Joshua’s pleasure (and John’s displeasure), he grew taller than John. Not by much, but noticeable enough if they were standing side by side. He once boasted about it in John’s face.

That ended with Joshua screaming (definitely not squealing) and laughing as he futilely tried to squirm away from John’s tickling touch.

John often found work in whatever town they landed in, while Joshua tried in his luck in cards, sometimes even doing a little a bit of this and that to gain a bit more money. It wasn't his fault if people didn't bother to keep a closer eye on their pockets. John didn't have to know. But he guessed John suspect something whenever Joshua had random spikes of excitement. But John never questioned it as long as there was money on the table.

(They don’t speak about how it was usually Joshua’s fault that they have to book it to another town because he played with the wrong guys or fought with the wrong people. But John does have spikes of annoyance whenever Joshua does something to bring it up.

Joshua could never settle in one place for long anyway.)

Sometimes Joshua can cook. Small things. Beans, fish, and corn are easy enough. Pork was mostly a hit or miss. Some days it was good, and other days it was bland as cardboard or burnt like it was bathing in hellfire.

John laughed uncontrollably and made downright rude remarks that one time when he was struggling to scrap remains of a disaster into the trash. Joshua refused to talk to him three hours after that.

(If they were lucky enough, they'd be able to buy some pressed duck. Those were heaven.)

He was content with this life. John might not be Goodnight Robicheaux, but John was his.

“What are you thinking about?” A hand came up and twirled itself around a lock of auburn hair.

He looked up to meet with those bright blue eyes that often send pleasant tingles down his spine. He looked away to resume playing with his cards, "Somethin' my mam said." It wasn't the first time Joshua talked about his mam. He talked about her a lot, and John would listen through his every word. It brought Joshua some comfort that he was able to freely speak about his mam. The girls would dodge the topic entirely with him around. Madam Flo would tell him not to dwell too long on dead people.

John played along with his whims, “And what did she say?”

“Well…” Joshua’s lips curled into a smirk as his hand went up and yanked the man closer to him so he could nip the man’s bottom lip lightly. Pleased he was, to feel the other man’s wave of arousal as John’s smile turned sharp and wanting, “My mam always said I would find someone attractive to match my own handsome looks.”

John’s fond laugh was cut off with Joshua’s mouth pressed over his. John ended up carrying the younger man to bed, lips never straying during the process. Clothes dropped to the floor as they indulged in each other. Softly, slowly. Fingers trailing over skin, through hair, leaving an addicting warmth in its’ wake.

Later, when they were just lazing in bed, John couldn’t help but comment, “You know, you’ve gotten heavier.”

Joshua slapped him with a pillow.

**✢✢✢✢**

He was so happy that he didn’t know what went wrong.

John found a new job in the current town they were in. Joshua didn’t ask, they were traveling long enough for him to guess what types of jobs John would go for. Things were the same, John went to work, and Joshua will head to the saloon for easy cash.

He didn't know when it started. When John began to become distant, when he started working longer hours or even when they started fighting more often. Eventually, he could barely feel John's presence in the back of his mind. There were times he tried to reach out to him, only to be brushed off impatiently or without another thought.

At first, Joshua thought the poor chap was tired. But as time went on, the longer they stayed in this town, the lack of affection John now gave him, Joshua grew unsure. When he finally asked what job did John take up, he replied, “A ranch. Typical stuff.”

But Joshua knew a lie when he heard one. So he pressed, asking some more questions until he felt the sharp anger and irritation coming from John. A tall tale sign that they were going to fight if Joshua doesn’t quit it.

Sadly, Joshua always pushes his luck.

The fight ended up with John slamming the door on his way out, and Joshua stomping his way to the saloon to drink himself silly. Who the fuck cares what was going on with the damn bastard. Not him!

He ended up coming home later than he originally intended. At that thought, he frowned. Why should John care when he got back. It wasn’t like John was waiting for him.

“Joshua?”

Or so he thought. Joshua brushed past the man, and angrily made his way to the bed.

“Joshy…”

“Shut up.” He growled, “And don’t call me that.” He mentally slapped away the gentle prod of guilt across their bonds. The man behind him sighed.

He listened to the sound of John's footsteps for a moment before the bed dipped to one side. Arms slowly embraced him, and that was when he started struggling and hissing, "Get the fuck off me! Don't you fuckin’ touch me, you goddamn bas–!”

Lips pressed against his soulmark, making Joshua torn between punching the man’s lights out and keening like a kitten. He made a frustrated sound instead, growling away the pleasant feeling that was bubbling up his throat. The gentle voice shushing him softly as he continued to cuss venomously and struggle in John’s hold. After a few more minutes of John kissing his soulmark and holding him tight, Joshua eventually settled down in defeat.

“I hate you.” He refused to admit that it sounded childish coming out of his mouth.

"I know, and I'm sorry." John ran his hand through his curls, fingers trailed just around the edges of his mark, visibly making him shiver. A warm coil unraveled from his gut, tension seeped out of him from John's ministration, "It's just… it's been a long few weeks, Josh. I'm exhausted, and that's no excuse, but I'm sorry for hurting you. Forgive me?"

Joshua made a soft sound when John gently raked his nails over his mark. He was being completely unfair. Joshua raised a hand to the back of his neck to stop him from continuing. He didn't want him to stop, but he needed a clear head to think.

It was a long moment of silence where Joshua laid there thinking. Something deep down gnawed at him, an intuition. His mam always told him to trust his intuition, but with the way he fit in John’s arms and the way his soulmark tingled under his touch, he brushed it aside.

Apparently, he was thinking too long because John slowly retracted his arms, the warmth disappearing with him, “If you want me to go, I’ll go.”

Immediately, he spun around and gripped the man’s shirt, fingers curling over where the older man’s soulmark was, a silent plea to not go. He cleared his throat as he looked everywhere but the man, unsure of what to say. He bit his lips in frustration before he decided to just fuck it and kissed him. John made a sharp intake of breath and pulled Joshua closer, a wave of reassurance made the younger man relax against his hold.

“I promise,” John started after they parted, “Things will be better. You’ll see. I can’t lose this job. The pay’s good, so don’t cause any trouble, alright? For me?” He stroked the back of Joshua’s neck again, making his mind fuzzy around the edges. A pleasant buzz that was so much better than opium, much more addicting. It was like a breath of fresh air and swallowing sunshine.

Now Joshua was never the poetic type, but no one can blame him for speaking in a flowery tongue when being here with his soulmate was  _just_   _perfect_.

Joshua basked in the warmth fluttering in his breast. He rubbed his nose against John’s neck, breathing in his scent. His fingers curled around the man’s shoulder fondly as his reply formed on his tongue without another thought, “Alright.” He nodded, “Okay.”

He never asked about John’s job again. He tried his damn hardest not to stir up trouble, keeping his head down. He tapped his fingers on the table to keep them busy instead of impulsively slipping them in pockets and bags that were not his own.

There were times when he could figure out when John would come home, and other times he would come home later than estimated. By then, the food would be cold, and John would complain. However, Joshua understood, an exhausted man eating cold food was never a happy one. He was just annoyed that the man would blame him for buying food too early or too late. But he bared with it, not wanting to stir up tension. Even if it meant accepting whatever criticism was thrown at him when John was irritated. He knew John didn’t mean it.

(Deep down he had doubts.)

Sometimes, John would be gone for days. Business trips, he said once. Joshua said nothing about it. If it is what John said it is, then it must be so. But sometimes it would get bad. On days when John was gone too long, Joshua was a miserable thing. Throbbing headaches and chills would wreak havoc through his body. On other days, he was lethargic at best.

He would lay in bed, shaking terribly under blankets as he fought with the urge to seek his soulmate. Sometime he would sleep and sometimes he would find himself with a foot out the door without remember the last five seconds. And Jesus almighty, he was no longer felt half-dead when John got home and embraced him.

They’ve fought about trust before. It wasn’t something Joshua would like to fight about again.

It basically ended with John accusing him of being unable to trust others and pushing his lying trait onto others.

“Don’t you trust me? Your soulmate?” John looked utterly disappointed when he said that and slap of guilt made Joshua shut up and want to turn back time and forget this ever happened. When he didn’t reply, John walked out the door, cutting their connection and didn’t return until Joshua nearly went crazy with worry while in search for him.

Yeah. Definitely not something Joshua wanted to experience again. So he kept quiet, slowly putting up mental walls to keep John from sensing his troubling emotions. He didn’t want John to suddenly storm out and leave him like before. So angering John was number one on his ‘shit not to do’ list

He didn't tell John how his touch was different, warmth disappearing every time he came home after a trip. Fucking was quick now, quick in the way he can't remember what John's caring touch felt like anymore, like his kisses, which were sparse and fleeting, lacking warmth. Even the way John touch his soulmark, while he was at his most pampering then, there was something else that made him feel a sick feeling rolling in his guts. Maybe it was because he can no longer tell what the other man was feeling when his end of their bond was cut off nowadays.

(He never mentioned that either.)

But he trusted John. So he swallowed all his concerns away, using excuses to justify the man's actions. Sometimes they would make him feel better; other times, they did little to help. And when they don't help, he spent time with Jack. Jack always made things better. He was always a damn good listener, adding a snort here and an exasperated head shake of his own there. Smart horse, Joshua liked to often think.

Sometimes, he even slept in the stables, not wanting to return to the empty bed that mocked him of his loneliness.

He never even voiced the discomfort he felt for overstaying their stay in this town. It prickled under his skin like an army of bees. His feet wanted to leave, but his heart refused to budge without John.

He didn't want to lose this, he realized one lonely day. He didn't want to lose the only person that he has and loved in this cruel world. So he clung on. Because John was his soulmate. Being with John felt  _right._  Perfect. Because every little touch was  _addicting,_  fleeting. Like a drug. Even if he didn’t recognize his John anymore, he clung on.

He clung onto the hopes that things will be alright again. That John would hold him in his arms again. (To just  _touch_ him.)

Like a stubborn fool he was, he clung on.

And then the thread snapped.

**✢✢✢✢**

Joshua was lounging in his seat, cutting and shuffling his card, polishing his card tricks when the door slammed with such a fury that it made him drop his cards in surprise.

Joshua didn’t even get a chance to react when John was hovering over him with the same amount of rage on his face, “What the hell were you doing the past two days that you felt the need to shut me out, huh?”

Joshua shrunk in his seat at the amount of anger in John’s face. But what he said made no sense whatsoever, “Huh?”

John sighed, a mix of disappointment and irritation, “Don’t play stupid, Joshua!” He snapped, “You cut me off! Thought I wouldn’t notice? What, were you causing trouble behind my back?”

Then it clicked.

He was so busy trying to keep the negative emotions from reaching the man that he didn’t realize that he completely cut the connection off. The other man backed up a bit as Joshua shot straight out of his seat, “No, no, no, John, that’s not it. I was just–” He cut himself off. How does one explain that he was trying to hide his troubling emotions from his soulmate without angering said soulmate?

“Just what?” John demanded, “Fucking someone else?”

What the fuck. Joshua gave him an incredulous look, “What?! No! What in the blazes are you talkin’ about, John?”

"So, who is it?" He spatted, “One of the girls in the whorehouse that you keep chatting with? Or is it one of the men that you claim you play cards with? What was it that you felt compelled to hide from me?”

“What the hell, John?! Neither! I haven’t looked at anyone in a dog’s age, much less go on random flings with someone.” Joshua ran a hand through his curls before reaching out towards John’s shoulder, “I have you…”

When John dodged his touch, Joshua refused to name the stab of pain in his chest. John scoffed, “So I’m just some good fuck to you.”

“Jesus wept. John, you’re not listenin’–”

“That’s because you’re still blocking me!” His hand came down loudly over the table, rage echoing as he spun around to face the young man.

With a jolt, Joshua realized that he was right. So he opened up a bit, letting a tendril of confusion and distress carry its' way towards John. Still, he was mercilessly smacked away by a mental wall. He sucked in a sharp intake of breath, clenching his jaw.

“C’mon, John, you’re bein’ ridiculous here.”

The man scoffed and waved his hands in the air as he turned away, “Oh, I’m the ridiculous one.”

Joshua’s distress started to fade into irritation, “You’re the one that cut me off first! I don’t see why you need to get your knickers in a bunch when I end up doin’ it, too.”

The older man spun around once again and bared his teeth. Joshua fleetingly thought he would be a great dancer if he kept spinning into the floor like that, “I did it for you!” He walked up into the younger man’s face, growling, “I was trying to be considerate since I’ve been working long hours, and for what? Putting food on the table while you go off fooling around with strangers!”

If there was any moment Joshua felt guilt, it was gone in the wind when his name was slandered so. He roughly pushed the other man away, “Okay, one, we both know that is total horseshit. And two, that is a load of shit comin' outta your mouth right now. In fact," He threw up his arms, angrily, "You've been _nothing_ but  _shit_ since we'd come here!"

“And what about you?” John asked, suddenly calm. But Joshua could see the rage lurking in his eyes, ready to rear its’ head again, “Why did you shut me out?”

Joshua should really stop, if he apologized now (even if he did nothing wrong), then he wouldn't mess anything up. Too bad Joshua wasn't the type to back down after he got worked up, "‘Cause you've _changed!!”_ He bellowed, almost exploding. He gestured wildly at John, “You don’t even look at me anymore, like actually look at me. And when you do look at me, it’s not like– like,” Warm and safe, “Like before. We fuckin’ fight all the time for fuck’s sake. We don’t even talk like we used to. Hell, I don’t even know what your job is because you keep dodgin’ the subject!”

“I thought maybe he’s tired, I didn’t want you to know what I felt ‘cause I trusted you! I trusted you ‘cause you told me things will be better. Because you  _told_ me to trust you!" Oh, he could go on and let everything out. But he was unable to form further words to justify his anger, his hurt, his troubles, "And now…"

“I don’t even know you anymore…” Soft despair crept into his mind upon recognizing the defeat in his tone. He didn’t know what expression he was wearing, but he could care less. He was waiting for John to respond. He was clinging on to that last strand of hope that would turn this whole thing around.

“Maybe it was you who has changed, Josh.”

The crushed hope nearly took his breath away. His fists were clenched tight, shaking. How dare he? How fucking  _dare._  He couldn’t even find words to respond to that. Speechless.

The silence was almost suffocating.

Joshua was the first to turn away, running a hand through his hair as he headed for their bags, “I can’t do this anymore.”

Footsteps followed in haste when he started shoving his things into his sack, which was almost funny, “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Out. Away. I don’t goddamn know.” He shoved his precious sewing kit in, cushioned by his clothes, “I can’t keep doin’ this, John. I can’t goddamn pretend everything’s gonna be alright when my  _soulmate_ is lyin’ to my fuckin’ face!” And he was stupid for believing it would be so. He’d seen it coming a mile away, and he foolishly turned a blind eye. Because of what? Because they were soulmates? Yeah, he was fucking ridiculous.

_“Ain’t nothin’ special ‘bout soulmates but marks sayin’ ya belong together, which is downright stupid if ya ask me.”_

John's hand shot out to grab his bag, and he dared to tossed it across the room like a piece of rag.

“Hey!” Joshua tried to rush over to his bag, but John spun him around and held a firm grip on his shoulders.

“You are not going anywhere.” He hissed.

"Get the fuck off me! We're done! I had enough!" Joshua attempted to shake out of the man's grip, but he was shoved against the wall, pinned there.

“We can’t just be done. We’re soulmates!”

“Fuck bein’ soulmates!” He spatted, leg lashing out against the vice grip, “Fuck God, destiny or whoever the fuck for saddlin’ me up with you! Go find another soulmate who would put up with your whole disappearin’ act!”

"No!" Joshua grunted when he was slammed against the wall. The pure, unadulterated rage from John almost made him choke, "You belong to me! Here is where your home is, and this is where you'll stay without causing a fucking scene!"

Joshua’s head came up and slammed against John’s, causing him to stagger back, “I am not a goddamn thing that you think can fuckin’ control just ‘cause some marks say so, bastard!” Oh, Joshua was livid. His eyes flashed with cutting anger and hatred as he snatched up his bag, checking the contents of his sewing kit before shoving it back in the bag.

“You can’t live without me.” Fingers pressed against his soulmark, warmth cascaded down his spine, tingling, easing the tension out of his shoulders, his body. It filled his mind with a sense of contentment, along with the wave of calmness that brushed over him. It almost made him forget his anger. Almost.

With a struggling effort, he shoved his boiling rage at the man and then slammed his walls up soon after, getting another surprised grunted from him. He spun around, using the momentum to throw a mean punch that had John on his bottom, lips split open. He felt no guilt whatsoever. Served him right for forcing his way into his head like that. At least some of his anger quell with that action.

“I don’t need you to live. Days of you away from home proved that a long time ago.”

John’s face twisted into a snarl, “So how are you going to earn money, huh? We both know you can’t do anything apart from slipping your fingers into other men’s pockets. So what are you going to do without me? Gambling away like you always do? Offering up yourself like a painted cat?”

“Or whatever gets the job done.” He fired back without a second thought. He didn’t want to admit how true John’s words were in his face. No, definitely not.

The older man let out a loud, sarcastic laugh, “Like mother, like son.”

His eyes narrowed at that. His hands clenched into fists as the red heat simmered beneath the surface, “What’s that s’pose to mean?”

John peered at him, those bright blue eyes that he once loved gazed upon him with a look he didn't know the name of. The man's lips curled into a nasty smirk that looked so out of place on him. Was John always like this? Someday he would admit that fear touched his heart at that moment, holding his heart in its cold hand. The icy chill that ran down his spine at the unfamiliarity of his soulmate. He could feel the edge of something prodding at him, but he cut him off completely, not wanting to know what the other felt, what the older man wanted him to feel.

He said it quietly, but to Joshua, it was loud. Each word was like fuel feeding the dying embers, “Once a whore's son, always a whore's son. That’s only what you’re good for.”

He stood up and brushed himself off, “You know why I cut you off? Because you’re so goddamned  _needy._  You're always so loud that it gives me a headache. Can’t even stand having me away for a few days without clinging onto me like a woman. And honestly, sometimes it gets tiring having a personal whore climbing all over me.”

Moments later, John was under him, face beaten into a bloody pulp. His blood coated Joshua’s fists as the man himself panted heavily, slowly coming out of his rage-filled trance.

The familiar weight of his gun was in his hand, surprisingly steady, aiming at the man’s forehead.

Click goes the hammer as he cocked his gun.  _(Take the shot.)_  His finger curled over the trigger as his breathing quicken.  _(Take that shot. C’mon.)_  He stared at the unconscious man’s face. If he ignored all the blood, he could see John sleeping peacefully as he always did.

“Take the damn shot!” He hissed to himself. His hand shook terribly now. His eyes burned and blurred as he shut them tight. Just one movement, a straightforward action to end this all.

 _But he can’t._ (He won’t.)

A choked sound bubbled out of Joshua’s lips, close to a sob. He pressed his forehead against the man’s chest, letting out a cry of hurt and frustration. He slammed his fist against the ground, letting out a shout of frustration.

Regaining some sense of himself, he quietly tucked the hammer back down and put it back in his holster. What the hell was he doing? He had to ask himself. The thought of him almost killing his soulmate made him choke on guilt.

He stumbled off the unconscious man and hastily wiped his hands the best he could on the sheets before stuffing his bag with the rest of his things. He moved around, oddly calm, mind blank. It was only when riding out of town with Jack racing across the dusty land that he finally realized what he had done with the weighted dread draped across his shoulders.

But he can’t go back. He could only urge Jack to run faster, past the closest town, further and further away. Away from the cause of why his chest constricted and wept.

It was like he was eighteen once again, running away from the town where he first killed a man.

Joshua knew when John came to, because the wave of rage cracked and whipped at him like hot iron at the crack of dawn, nearly toppling him off of his ride. He immediately cut the connection completely, not daring to let his walls down again.

_“Stories are just pretty words covering up the ugliness of reality.”_

He was twenty-two when he ran away.

**✢✢✢✢**

He tilted his head up at the sunset, feeling the warmth caressing his skin. He let the moment of silence brush over him without worry or care for the world.

“...Josh…”

Green eyes snapped open, reeling back like he received a punch to the gut, he sharply took a deep breath and instantly regretted it. The putrid smell of gore and blood stuck to the roof of his mouth, filling up his nostrils that made his eyes blur. He covered his nose as he stumbled about, gagging.

He stumbled back until the back of his shoes hit something– no, some _one._ The whoremonger stared up at him through glassy eyes, red seeping out of his chest from the clean hole right where his heart was.

He jerked away from him and ended up bumping into another body. Fearful eyes swept over the carnage. The smell of blood was heavy in the air, clinging to his clothes, marking them in its’ bright red sneer as if drenching him in his sins.

Faces of war, gunshots, smoke, the neverending ringing in his ears. So loud, that he couldn't hear himself breathe. He covered his ears in a desperate attempt to shut out the noise that he now recognized as people's screams. But the sound continued in his head. So loud and grating that he was sure it was going to drive him insane.

"Josh." A voice cut through the screams, and the world fell silent.

He opened his eyes to see a figure standing at a distance, but not too far that he couldn’t see their features. His breath caught in his throat before relief made him smile, “John!”

John did not run to him, and he stayed in one place, despite the need to run to the man, his soulmate. He grew puzzled, unsure what was it that he was doing. Looking down, his eyes widened at the sight of his gun in his hand. Raised and aimed at John’s head with his finger curled over the trigger.

He gaped soundlessly as his thumb pulled back the hammer. His head darted back up at the older man, trying to explain, but his words were caught in his throat. His head shook slowly instead.

John's face twisted into an ugly sneer and just kept twisting. His bright blue eyes were now a void of darkness, blood seeped from the hole in his head, trailing down his face mockingly.

“John!” He finally found his voice, shaking his head frantically, begging his limbs to fucking  _move,_  “John, no!  _John!_ ”

Joshua found himself on the end of a gun, the cold barrel pressed softly against his forehead. Its icy coldness burned into his skin. His breath hitched. John’s arm pulled him in close, hip to hip, chest to chest. His eyes were now normal, but cold. Possessive. John’s fingers curled around the back of his neck. But his touch was wrong. He planted a kiss on his forehead, sliding the gun down his face, leveling it at his chest.

Joshua let out a gurgled cry as strong fingers tore into his neck. Warmth filled his body, buzzing with the pain. The scent of blood came back with an overwhelming force that he can’t snuff out. The temperature quickly increased with the pain as fingers dug deeper and deeper, blood slicking against his skin. The man dug slowly, searching for something, reaching for the bond that binds him to the man, tightening the chains around his fingers and putting it taut.

He was burning alive, “J-John–” He croaked, tears made his vision blurry. It was only due to his soulmate’s frame pressed against him that he did not topple over. His own fists balled up in the man’s lapels, “It hurts… John it… it hurts… stop… Please– I can’t… I’m sorry, I’m sorry– John, please!” His gargled pleads and cries were ignored as freezing lips brushed over his forehead as if it would soothe the fire in him.

Agony danced wildly along his nerves as flames from Hell licked at his skin. His lips moved in silent pleads, choking on his own blood as hot tears spilled down his cheeks, mixing with the blood from below.

John spoke so softly that he almost missed it.

_The gunshot thundered all the way into his bones._

Joshua lurched up from his bed like a bullet, gasping, and shaking like a newborn lamb. Hands shot up to his neck, feeling the unbroken skin beneath them. He choked on his breathing, coughing as he kicked off the blankets, huddling himself up against the wall.

He could still feel the phantom pain lingering around. His chest hitched as he broke into a quiet sob, burying his head into his knees, fingers clawed into the back of his neck where his soulmark lay hidden.

_“Soulmarks are like chains, bound to ‘em. It ain’t a good thing, boy.”_

His breathing was sporadic and heavy as his eye swept around the room in the dark. When the effects of his nightmare faded somewhat, he attempted to take deep breaths to settle his nerves down. His lips pressed into a thin line. His hand pressed over his chest as if it would force it to calm down, while his other hand wiped the tears from his eyes.

He covered his face with his hands, breathing against them (Breathing in the blood). He closed his eyes tiredly, only to snap them open upon seeing the faces (seeing  _John’s face_ ) flickering by.

His nightmares were never this bad before. But his life just loved to fuck him over, huh?

Joshua signed and rubbed his face, he woke up too early for this. But the thought of going back to sleep wasn’t all that appealing...

His limbs suddenly jerked at a sudden jolt through his nerves, lighting them on fire. He let out a soft cry of pain, wrapping his arms around himself when the rage ripped through his body like a storm.

He slammed his walls up, shutting John out. His finger dug into his legs, trying to force them to stop trembling.

He wasn’t going back like a begging dog. He can’t. He won’t.

Glancing outside, he could see the sky lighting with every moment. He should get going before John finds him. If he even tried to. But John was so deeply in love with his work to even go search for him or whatever the blaze he was doing. So really, Joshua didn't have to leave so soon. But he wasn't going to push his luck today.

Joshua laughed bitterly and stood up, snatching up his bottle of whiskey and let the liquor burn down his throat as he walked out the door with his belongings.

Six pounds of pressure, that’s all it’s required to kill a man. And they say the nightmares never go away.

**✢✢✢✢**

He goes by Faraday nowadays, no longer giving out his first name in case  _that_ man gets a whiff of his trail.

It took years for Faraday to get used to the empty feeling within his chest. Sometimes he would wake up reaching out for the warmth that used to make him whole, and sometimes he had to resist the feeling of running back to his soulmate. It was a constant battle with his own body. But those annoying moments were tolerable till he barely noticed it anymore as the years went on as he had gotten used to it. (Although the first few weeks were hell.)

He'd gotten better at keeping his walls up nowadays, too afraid of putting it down. Sometimes he wondered what would happen if he opened up the connection, but he was too scared to know.

He spent his days fluctuating between drunk off his ass and just tipsy. Hell, Faraday drank enough liquor that it probably replaced his blood. The first thing he does once he arrived in town was to go to the saloon for a drink and a game of cards.

There were a few rare times when he got caught cheating, and that didn't end so well. More so on the other folks' end than Faraday's. It was absolutely hilarious to see the men climbing over each other to put a bullet through his head when he was already riding out of town.

He laughed to Jack about it, and he thinks Jack agreed with him on how much of an idiot those men were. But they both know that Jack would kill whoever tried to get the drop on Faraday. That’s how he was. Faraday tried not to kill if he could help it. But sometimes when push comes to pull, a man gotta do what he gotta do.

Now he did try some jobs. From woodwork to farm work. Even a little bounty hunting or two. None of them lasted long with him regularly on the move or kicking up more trouble than he's worth.

(Mining was a mistake, though. He was never going to touch that again. Let’s just say he became absolutely terrified of rats ever since.)

Faraday obtained the perfect set of guns when he was twenty-seven. They were beautiful. A pair of Colts, one with a pearl handle, much like the scissors in his sewing kit, the only keepsake from his mother. And the other one had a rosewood handle.

While the rosewood one was dull in comparison to the pearl one, Faraday loved her all the same. He named them Ethel and Maria as he ditched the Baby Dragoon he carried all these years. It was like a final weight off his back, free of the gun that carried the bad memories with it.

Along the way, he also got a hand on a holdout pistol, small but also got his back when Ethel and Maria couldn’t. He named her Flo. And boy does she have one vicious bite for her size.

And so, with his guns, a deck of cards, his pearl-handled scissors and Jack, he traveled in and out of towns throughout the years, playing cards and swindling men more than he actually worked. Cards would usually be a hit or miss if he lets it. Sometimes he would be far too eager to see when Lady Luck would press up against him, blowing her magic over his hands.

If that didn't give him enough money, then how could anyone say no to a few magic tricks? Surely no one would notice a few clever fingers ruffling through their belongings.

Sometimes he would indulge in the women, sometimes he would indulge in the men. A man got needs, and he wasn't going to be a sticker and abandoned them. He was a single man.

Faraday was free. A wild thing seeking the thrill and the adventure of the world. He was never meant to settle, never meant to be a tamed thing. No, he was like dynamite ready to explode, crackle and jump about to keep watchers on edge. A wary thing, ready to strike at the first sign of a threat.

Maybe that's why things never worked out. Faraday would think on dark days. Perhaps it was his fault. He would drink himself drunk before he would let those dark thoughts engulf him.

And that was how he lived his life. Always gambling, always drinking, always running. Until he met Sam Chisolm and the lovely Joan of the Arc with her associate, Teddy Q, when he was thirty-three.

It was getting a mite bit dull, wasn't it?

**✢✢✢✢**

He wondered if it was a bad mistake, agreeing to go along with this so-called impossible quest. Wouldn't have been a first.

He could've easily stolen back his horse and raced away, making himself Sam Chisolm's next target after dealing with Rose Creek. Which is fun entertainment, leading the lawman on a wild goose chase in Faraday's box of bad ideas. If the current job doesn't kill the man first. And Faraday didn't need all those death on his conscience. Even if he could feel it in his bones that there was a slim chance of them coming out of this alive.

It wasn’t because he was afraid of death, but it was the strange fondness feeling bubbling up in the deep depths of his small heart.

He had caught sight of Emma fiddling with the edge of her glove, seeming out of place with her attire. Sam filled him in on some of the details but left the unspoken ones for Faraday to ponder about. He tore his eyes away, breathing deeply before moving on.

Faraday never considered himself to be a nostalgic person until, well, now.

The talk of Goodnight Robicheaux got him to recall the first time he met  _that guy_ , much to his annoyance.

"Day and a half ride to Junction City. We got two days. Let's do a half-day of drinkin'." Faraday broke out into an eager grin as the other men laughed at him. In reality, he needed a drink to get rid of the thoughts running about in his head. And partly because there was something about Billy and Goodnight that made him annoyed and he couldn't figure out what.

He didn’t like it.

His tales and jokes turned trail songs along the ride back. He did try to get Teddy and Goodnight to join him, and Goodnight did go along with his whims for a bit (bless that man), but in the end, it was only him, giddily singing at the top of his lungs.

“Easy there, son.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” Faraday sang, taking another drag of his whiskey to prove a point.

Goodnight gave him a look of doubt, eyeing him over for a moment, “If you say so.” He nodded and pulled away to head towards Billy. It was then he saw it. A quick and simple brush, wrist to hand, something that no one would give another thought, but Faraday knew. Oh, he knew.

_“Wherever I go, Billy goes.”_

He frowned sourly. He downed half of his bottle in an attempt to quell his stirring ire before continuing to bellow out another song, swaying precariously in his seat. Bless Jack for managing to keep his rider from embarrassingly pitching ass over tit from his saddle.

Goody complained that he was going to attract the coyotes with his howling. Now wouldn’t that be a hoot?

He eventually quieted down once they’ve gotten closer to their designation. He could make out Sam’s and Emma’s silhouettes from afar, along with an extra one. He couldn’t make out the man’s features, yet.

“Sam? He’s Billy.” He said, unaware that he was repeating Goody’s words, “He comes with Goodnight.”

He easily slid off his saddle without much trouble. Bless Jack. He gave the handsome stallion a quick pat before sauntering over to Sam. He recalled saying something, followed by how Billy was niffy with them pigstickers. But when his eyes finally landed on the new addition to their band of misfits, talking to Sam didn't hold up his interest anymore.

Seconds later of staring, Faraday blurted out, “Oh good, we got a Mexican.” And didn’t hesitate to totter over and say some words that he had picked up in the past, “Yippe yippe andále.” He made a show of crouching and waving his hand behind him. His eyes flashed daringly while his grin turned sharp at the Mexican, hungry for a reaction, “Olé, muchacho!”

Unfortunately, Sam loves to take the fun out of things. Sam ushered the Mexican away before he could get anything out of the man beside for a murderous glare. His eyes swept causally (albeit shamelessly) up and down the Mexican’s retreating figure.

Without much to do, he retreated back to Jack to continue drinking. At least the Mexican was cute.

**✢✢✢✢**

“Caught by his own wife and Jesus, I’ve never seen a man run that fast with his trousers ‘round his ankles.” Faraday cackled loudly, “The look on his face was a sight to be seen!”

The Mexican besides him huffed almost exasperatedly with a hint of amusement, “Do you ever stop talking, cabrón?”

He thought about it, or at least pretended to, taking a long puff of his smoke and then an even longer drink of his whiskey. Then he flashed the man a smirk, “Just did,muchacho.”

There was a brief pause of silence before the Mexican burst out a low, rumbling chuckle, shaking his head, “Pendejo.”

Faraday almost beamed at his accomplishment. He risked nudging the man’s leg with the toe of his boot, earning him an annoyed stare, “So, got a name,muchacho? Unless you prefer that.” The man scoffed around the prairie grass he was chewing on but didn’t respond, so it was safe to continue, “Name’s Faraday.” He winked.

The man stared at him a while longer. Just as Faraday was about to make some comment about it, the Mexican surprised him with his next word, “Vasquez.”

He broke out into a broad grin, a little giddiness in his success. Two straight wins in a roll, how about that. He tempted to try his luck further, "What, no first name?"

“Maybe I give you mine if you give me yours.” Vasquez suggested.

Faraday huffed a laugh. That was a no go then. Can’t say a man didn’t try. He tipped his hat instead, “Pleasure to meet you, Vas.” Was all he said before he pulled away and rode up to Sam’s side, unaware of the studying stare that Vasquez was aiming at his back.

But Faraday did hear him grumbling to Goodnight about, “No such thing as a Texican, cabrón.” Texican, hah! Good one, Goody. He alternated between his cigar and his whiskey as they bantered in the background as they travel to wherever they were going. Speaking of which…

“Which stray are we pickin’ up now?” He glanced over at Sam.

“Jack Horne.” Came the response.

He whistled, grabbing the others’ attention, “The Jack Horne. Another legend!” He glanced back at Goodnight as if sharing a silent joke, “What a bunch of misfits we are.”

But they didn’t meet Jack Horne when they arrived at his home, just the Pigeon Brothers. Of course, no one believed that a couple of no-names could’ve easily killed a legend such as Jack Horne.

And lo and behold, the very man stormed out of the trees like a bear towards his prey. Tension and excitement buzzed under his skin as they watched Horne take down the brothers.

"The Pigeon Brothers weren't very famous for long." Goody commented, gathering up snickerings around him. Faraday noticed Emma and Teddy sending each other looks. Having second thoughts? He almost laughed again. Beggars can't be choosers.

Unfortunately for Sam, Horne left without another word. Faraday couldn’t help but tell a joke to get rid of the awkward air, “I believe that bear was wearin’ people’s clothes.” Drawing more chuckles from the group. He glanced up to catch Vasquez looking back at him in amusement and a shake of his head before he walked past Faraday towards his horse.

Later that night, after he swindled Teddy of his whiskey (Faraday wasn't lying when he said he was going to show the green chap how to use the colt. It wasn't his fault that the kid was a sore loser.), he watched Goody and Billy huddling close, whispering to each other in the dark. So much like back then. But the way they interacted was different. It bugged him, not knowing what it was.

There was an uneasy feeling in the depths of his guts, an ugly feeling he doesn't want to admit to. But he couldn't help thinking the ‘what could've been.'

Mood soured, he downed the flask and sulking to himself. He tried to get comfortable against the rocks from his perch, smoothing out his blanket. Then he caught sight of the outlaw against the other side of the rocky cliff, already getting some shuteye. His eyes twinkled mischievously.

Sliding down, he slowly crept his way towards the man, sticking out his foot to nudg–

“You make enough noise to wake the dead, güero.”

Faraday stood there awkwardly on one foot before it took him another second to realized he got caught. Vasquez cracked an eye open as Faraday huffed a laugh, settling himself next to him, “I do not. Rocks ain’t good for dancin’ toes.”

Vasquez quirked an amused brow, “You dance?”

He only gave him a secretive smirk before silencing himself briefly with a swig of whiskey, “So,” He adjusted his position, “Heard you’re a wanted man.”

Vasquez eyed him, warily, "And?"

He shrugged, “Just curious what you did, that’s all.”

Vasquez made a sound, half a scoff, half a laugh, “There is this saying where you should pull in your horns, güero.”

“Ain’t got horns ta pull in when I ain’t puttin’ ‘em into trouble. Ain’t anyone here but you and me and a couple of men and a lovely widow out of earshot.”

"Killed a ranger." He simply said, after a moment of silence, "He had it coming." He didn't say anything more than that. And judging by his body language, he didn't seem eager to share what happened.

Unfortunately, Faraday wasn't one for subtlety, "What did he do?" He asked, eagerly.

“Maybe that’s a story for another time, güero.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Faraday pouted as Vasquez shifted to make himself comfortable, ignoring the failing puppy eyes Joshua was firing at him. Undeterred, he nudged Vasquez playfully, “I’m sure my charms would convince you otherwise.”

Vasquez let out a loud snort, “You can’t charm a bull if you tried.”

Faraday leaned in closer with a suggestive smile playing on his lips, “That sounds like a challenge, a-me-go.”

The man seemed to hesitate for a moment. That raised the excitement in Faraday just a bit before it was ruined when the man nudging him back none too gently, "Your accent is terrible. Makes my ears bleed."

“Not everyone speaks Texican!”

“Spanish, güero _. Spanish_. No such thing as a Texican.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to~” He sang as Vasquez rolled his eyes. Faraday looked Vasquez over, silently wondering where the man’s mark was. He risked glancing over at the others to see Goodnight chatting with Sam. His hand reached up under his neckerchief to scratch roughly into the back his neck, “Got a soulmate?”

Vasquez blinked up at him, caught off guard at the sudden question. But the choice of topic was not expected from Faraday, so his surprise was understandable. He shook his head, "Don't have one."

This perked Faraday’s interest, “Don’t have one?” He repeated, puzzled, “Ya mean never found ‘em or…”

He shook his head, "Don't have a soulmate. Never felt a second person in my head, and by 18, I knew I had no soulmate." Vasquez shrugged.

Faraday wondered how that felt, not having to be chained to someone, not worrying about someone getting into your head, “You don’t feel outta the loop or somethin’?”

He shrugged again, “En realidad no. Don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything. A life like mine isn’t suitable for a soulmate anyway.”

Must be lucky. Faraday swallowed the lump of the twisted feeling in his throat. He was grateful when Vasquez spoke up again, or else he would have probably said something he would regret.

“And you, güero?”

His lips curled into a practiced grin with a well-repeated phrase on his tongue, “Nah.” He shook his head, “Don’t have one.”

**✢✢✢✢**

A sudden smack to Vasquez's face got his fingers wrapped around his gun and aimed it at his attacker before bleary realizing that it was just the damn drunkard moving in his sleep. He turned his head to get a quick glimpse at his companions, and sure enough, they were all asleep. The sun hasn't even hit the skies yet.

Shoving Faraday's hand away, Vasquez settled back down on his bedroll and closed his eyes to get some more sleep. But only to be thwarted when Faraday rolled against him, throwing his limbs on top of him, mashing his face against his shoulder to top it off. Vasquez breathed in, counting backward slowly and then exhaled. It was way too early to be dealing with this, but here he was, losing a good night's sleep in months to Faraday's thrashing.

The man was mumbling something unintelligible when Vasquez gently shoved him out of his space, careful not to stir him. He settled back on his bedroll, his eyes trailed back on the Irishman, taking in his features. Sleep has rendered the man guardless, smoothing out the rough features of his face. He can’t say that he hated this side of the man, especially since he’s quiet now. Faraday snored softly then, breaking the brief silence.

Well, almost.

He watched Faraday clenched and unclenched his fingers against the gravel, reminding him of children that sleep in such a way. Faraday's breath hitched, and he jerked awake, prompting Vasquez to quickly shut his eyes and focused on breathing slowly.

For a moment, there was silence, except for the breathing of the güero as he slowly shook the sleep off.

“Shit.” He heard footsteps stumbling away. Vasquez dared peeked through slitted eyes to see Faraday skedaddling to his rock perch as quietly as he possibly could in his sleep drunken haze, which to say, wasn’t that quiet. Although he’ll admit, it was an amusing sight to see.

Vasquez fell back to sleep shortly after.

**✢✢✢✢**

Faraday was rudely awakened when everyone became alert of a potential threat in the area, but it only turned out to be Horne. Damn morning people. But all his irritation turned into fear and wariness when a lone Comanche trotted into view.

After a conversation between Sam and the boy (Since when did Sam speak Comanche?), they gained a few more members of their band of misfits. Although he wondered if it’s a good idea to have Red and Horne be in the same group.

After a breakfast of  _cooked_ deer, they were off.

As much as he enjoyed talking to Goody, he feared that Billy may snap his neck if he teased the older man too much. And he's sure that Billy would stab him if he annoyed him anymore. Horne is always talking about some Lord mumbo jumbo. Red can't speak English, Sam probably would play the silent treatment with him once he had enough with Faraday's ramblings. Teddy was still mad at him for the little stunt Faraday pulled yesterday, plus Teddy was a bit too uptight. Emma was a fire that he didn't want to poke at too much lest he gets burned.

But Vasquez is a whole nother story.

Faraday actually enjoyed bantering and joking with Vasquez, more so than Goody. It was something about him that made Faraday intrigued like a moth to the flame. Vasquez’s humored went hand in hand with his own. The man always had a retort or an insult ready, either in English or Spanish, much to his chagrin.

He complained about it once, only for Vasquez to say, "Learn if you want to understand." His eyes were teasing. Calling him güero this and güero that. (What the heck is a güero anyway?) So he proceeded to terribly pronouncing Spanish words he heard Vasquez said, only stopping when both Goody and Vasquez threatened to throw him off his own horse. They wouldn't, but Faraday will spare them once from his antics.

Faraday continued to chat Vasquez’s ears off all the way to Rose Creek, ignoring the stirring jitters in his gut.

The plan was simple enough. Wait for the signal, put on their mean faces, and then shoot them in the face. Excitement licked at Faraday's skin, fingers twitching for his guns, making him more giddily than he ought to be. He could barely contain the huge grin on his face as he looked over at Vasquez, "Well, this is goin' to be fun."

The man let out a low chuckle, muttering something he didn’t catch before they parted ways.

As he waited for Sam's signal, there was a strange and uncomfortable feeling rising in his guts. His instincts were telling him to run and never look back. From afar, he could see one of the Blackstones' back, looking strangely familiar. His voice was also surprisingly familiar. He briefly wondered if he met any Blackstones in the past. No faces popped up in his mind. He pursed his lips, fingers tapping his guns as his eyes swept over to the spot where Vasquez was hiding in.

When he heard Sam’s signal, he took a deep breath and shoved the impending dread away and let his footsteps echo loudly on the porch. His grin stretched across his face as he leaned against the inn, fingers stroking Ethel while his other hand rested on Maria threateningly despite his lax posture.

The world stopped when the Blackstone finally turned around to face him.

All was fun and games until reality crashes down on you. And that was what Faraday felt at that moment. It was then that all the dread in his gut started to made sense and he wanted to bolt.

(Oh, he was a fool. He was never free.)

John goddamned McCann stared back at him with the same shock expression on his face. Faraday gritted his teeth, unsure what to feel. There were too many emotions trying to dominate over the other. Something within his chest pulled and tugged, desperately wanting to fit into the arms of his other half. Faraday firmly dug his heels into the ground as he dug his nails into his palms, refusing to please either end of the bond.

Jo– McCann's expression hardened, but his emotions were another story. Smug and strangely grateful were a few feelings Faraday felt when the man prodding into his mind, taking advantage of Faraday's moment of surprise.

Rage took over as he slammed his walls up, satisfied when the man flinched and glared at him. Faraday grinned back at him, wild and sharp. McCann finally looked away when the other Blackstone spoke up, saying something about strays.

“I'll say a prayer for you.” Horne gestured with his free hand, “You know, a–a  _little_ prayer.”

"Yeah, you'll make a hell of a rug." John sneered. God… He couldn't help it; he _missed_ that voice as much as he loathed it. Faraday’s nails dug into his palm when his feelings threatened to overwhelm him.

"And you'll be murdered by the world's greatest lover." He smirked. His charming grin slipped on easily with practiced effort. He was pleased to see the look on McCann's face meant that he managed to get under the man's skin.

For a second, he was afraid that McCann would let the beans spill. As if sensing what Faraday felt, the man’s face slipped into smug expression, making Faraday’s hackles raise, “How cute.” It was to Faraday’s relief that the man didn’t say anything further than that.

McCann looked around at the others before landing his eyes back on Sam, looking like the slimy asswipe he always was. He only began to take things seriously went Red took down two of his men.

The standoff stretched too long for Faraday’s tastes. Like a ball of energy, he was ready to bounce into action. He was surprised that he even waited this long. But the moment Sam fired the first bullet, he was off, taking out the men above him without missing a shot. Because he’s Faraday, of course, he never missed. He also thought it was a tad funny that they came out above him like lambs waiting to be slaughtered. Now wasn’t that a morbid thought?

Perhaps the surprise of seeing McCann shook him more than he had liked to admit for someone to managed to sneak up on him, ready to put a bullet in his back.

A gunshot rang out, hitting the man, toppling him over. He jerked his head over to Sam, who nodded at him. Faraday, then, looked over to catch John turning to run away. That goddamn coward.

Refusing to let McCann run free, he jumped over the railings and with a calm ire, advanced on the other Blackstones, taking down the ones gaining on Goody. His back easily slid up against Vasquez’s back, like pieces to a jigsaw puzzle. The man’s presence managed to take away some of Faraday’s irritation. He couldn’t help but flash the man a quick grin when they watched each other’s backs as if they’ve done so for years. This was something he could get used to.

With a bright flash of a smile from Vasquez, who looked like he was thoroughly enjoying himself, they both went their ways to take care of other strays.

Faraday snuck in between houses in search of the slippery bastard. Creeping his way to the back, he was abruptly shoved back against the wall and only ceased his struggling when he realized who it was, although he kept his finger on the trigger.

McCann spoke in a breathless laugh, smiling gleefully as his John did in the past, “I knew you would come back. You always do.”

For a moment, Faraday was back in the past, where John would embrace him after a long hard day at work, caressing his face just like this. But the moment his cold fingers brushed the back of his neck for his mark, Faraday jerked his head forward, smashing it against McCann’s own. The Blackstone cursed and backed away to check his nose.

“Don’t you goddamn touch me!” Faraday spat at him, fingers clawing into the back of his neck, “I didn’t come back for  _you_. Honestly, what the blaze is goin' on?"

“Josh–”

“Faraday.” At McCann’s confused expression, he continued, “You don’t have the goddamn right to call me by that name. We’re done, McCann. We’d been done. It’s time to move the fuck on, ‘cause I have.”

McCann’s expression hardened and took a step forward. But the sight of Faraday’s gun aimed at him, made him stop in place, “Come, Joshua.” He beckoned softly, holding out his hand, “It’s time to come home.”

Pulling back the hammer was his answer to the man. He was surprised how steady his limbs were despite the turmoil within him, "So this is what you've been up to, huh? Kissin' up some good ol' barron robber's ass. You were always a boat-licker."

All the kindness dropped from McCann’s face as he dropped his hand, “I’ll be back. And when this is all over for your little friends, you’ll know who to return to.”

"Been practicin' that line often?" Faraday had to bark a laugh, adjusting his hold on Maria, "Oh, fuck off. What makes you think I'm gonna go back with you? We're done, _McCann_. Done.”

The man only smiled, coming closer till his torso pressed against the barrel. His head slid forward till he was whispering in his ear, “Because… we’re soulmates. Because,” Faraday’s breath hitched when McCann gripped the back of his neck none too gently. His body betrayed him as he felt himself shuddered when McCann kneaded that spot, “You’re  _mine_.”

He made a small sound as the onslaught of sensations slammed into his senses. He was drowning, head buzzing with warmth.  _Safe, home, warm,_ something whispered, threatening to drag him down further.

He willed his body to move, but his head was hazy, stuffed with warmth. The connection he starved himself off for eleven years came back with a vengeance. His bond yearned for it, wanted more, desperate for its needs to be soothed after years of neglect.

His head knocked against the man's shoulder as he vaguely registered his hands fisting McCann's coat, "Stop–" He meant to say.

But only nonsense came out as he whimpered when McCann pulled away, ripping his hands from his coat.

The sudden emptiness of the sensations left him reeling as his back slammed against the wall, feeling as if he went through two saloons and came out thoroughly wasted. He slid to the ground as he tried to calm his stomach and ease the dizziness that overcame him.

With a clearer head, he realized what had happened and jumped to his feet, “Fuck.” His throat tightened with shame and anger, “Fuck!” He fired into the ground where McCann once stood, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” A new hole punched into the ground with each word.

Faraday bit back the urge to scream as he remembered there was still a fight going on. He rushed back out into the opening to catch Goody, aiming his rifle at the lone rider out in the opening, and he nearly whooped for joy.

He slid right behind him to urge him on, “Take the shot.” His momentary relief died away to confusion when Goody took way too long to pull the trigger, “Take that shot.” His eyes shot up to see the fucking bastard galloping away free, without a damn bullet in his body.

When he looked back at Goody, he could see himself on the inn floor with John under him, gun barrel rested on his head. Just pull the damn trigger, it’s so easy, just shoot, come on, just–

“Take the damn shot!”

Instead, Goodnight lowered his rifle. The broken look he gave Faraday made Faraday so goddamn close to throttling the goddamned, yellow-bellied _bastard_ if Billy hadn't intervened. The gun's jammed, his ass. The hell it is. But he didn't get to question it when Goodnight followed Billy back with the others.

Faraday stood there for a moment, resisting to kick up dirt and trying to reel in his ire before regrouping with the others.

He only really tuned back in with the world when Vasquez announcing his kill count when asked, “Six.” He wasn’t there to count every man the vaquero shot, but he was pretty damn sure that was a lie he’s sniffing.

"I got seven." Sam looked back at him dubiously as he shamelessly held up seven fingers. Vasquez beside him, snagged the bait and scoffed. Faraday turned to him with his hands ready on his guns, "You wanna try and tie it up, huh, chingado?" At that, Vasquez slowly reloaded his guns. Eagerness jumped in his veins, restless for a fight, eager to find out who'll come out on top.

But Vasquez turned to face him with amusement dancing in his dark eyes, rather than the irritation that Faraday sought for, "Say when güero." The man growled, but it was underlined with a tad of fondness that it made Faraday's anger disappear like smoke, leaving him completely at a loss.

Thankfully, Sam caught a little mole hiding under the porch, saving him from having to fumbling about like a fool. Now he had no idea what Sam was going on about when he was giving the nervous man instructions, but one glance at Goodnight told him that he probably did. He wasn’t in the mood to poke and prod, though.

In fact, the moment Sam was finished saying his piece to the townspeople, Faraday snatched up a bottle of whiskey from one of the fallen Blackstones and headed back to the stables. His eye caught sight of Billy wrapping his hand around Goodnight’s bandaged wrist, guiding him inside one of the houses.

His lips pressed into a thin line at the gentle signs of affection from the two. He hurried along his way as jealousy and shame reared their ugly heads in his gut to his throat. He completely missed the puzzled look that a certain outlaw was shooting his way.

**✢✢✢✢**

Faraday didn't know how long he sat there with his forehead pressing against Jack's, but he reckoned it was long enough for his stomach to start complaining. It would do him no good if the others begin to question his disappearance either. He spoke to Jack in a low murmur, stroking the horse's head before departing.

“Well, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence.” Goodnight remarked at the silhouette at the door.

Faraday smirked and sauntered his way over between Sam and Vasquez and sat down, discarding the empty bottle on his way over, “I practically abandoned my horse right before the fight. I gotta check and make sure he wasn’t gonna be angry at me later.”

Apparently, Sam felt the need to rub it in his face that he was the one that brought Jack from a leprechaun, “ _My_ horse, you mean.”

Laughter erupted around the table as Faraday huffed and puffed. Once his plate was set in front of him, he dug in, listening to the laughter and jesting that flew around the table.

(Although it was hard to look at Vasquez who was stuffing food down his throat like some wild animal)

As it turned out, they had to share a room if they wanted to make space for the extra men over at the mine. Of course, Billy and Goodnight shared a room. Sam had a room to himself while Horne had decided to camp outside near the creek and who knew where Red went. Then it came down to one room with Vasquez and Faraday.

Faraday didn’t particularly mind –ok, maybe he did a tad– but nothing was stopping him from complaining about it all the way up the stairs about rooming with a Mexican. The said Mexican swore that he was going to push the man down the stairs if he doesn’t stop yapping so loudly.

“I don’t want to sleep next to someone who snores either or flails like a fish out of water. So deal with it or switch with one of the others.” Vasquez could feel a headache forming between his temples.

Faraday made an offended noise, "Excuse you, one, I do not do any of those things you just said. That is absolute slander on my name." Vasquez hanged his head back until he's staring up at the ceiling, rolling his eyes back into his skull as the other man continued on, "And two, I don't want to get in between Billy and Goodnight, I mean, have you seen them being all…" He made kissing noises as he batted his lashes.

Vasquez snorted out a laugh before turning them into a fake cough, trying to look serious once more.

“And Sam is a tad too borin’.” He said simply as if that was all the reasons he needed.

The vaquero’s lips twitched upwards in mild amusement, “Are you saying that I’m interesting, güero?”

Faraday hummed thoughtfully as he looked at Vasquez shrewdly. His lips turned upwards into a smirk, “You’re somethin’ alright.” He slipped past him, leaving the amused man on the stairs.

“Do you always drink so much, güero?” Vasquez asked once they settled into their rooms.

Faraday was sitting on his bed, smoking with one hand and heavily drinking with the other. His forehead crinkled as he looked over at the other man, mouth slipping into a lazy smile, "It's my lifeblood."

Vasquez shook his head, “You’ll drink yourself to death.”

“Would’ve killed me by now if that was the case. But ‘nough of talkin’ ‘bout my whiskey.” He waved him off, “Tell me a story.”

Vasquez shook his head again, this time denying his request, “Ehh, I don’t think I got a story interesting enough to tell.”

"And I'm drinkin' water." Faraday loudly scoffed, "C'mon, Vass," He whined, "Life of an outlaw can't be that borin'. Ain't anyone here but you and me." He pressed on when Vasquez didn't seem to be swayed, "I ain't gonna spill your secrets ta anyone either. Zip! Nada." He made a stitching motion across his lips and then flicked the imaginary needle away, "You share a story, I share one too, eh, vaquero?"

The other man stared at him in consideration for a moment before shifting on the bed across from Faraday’s to make himself comfortable. Intrigued, Faraday suddenly looked more attentive. Then Vasquez smiled deviously, “I might be persuaded to share if you share some of that, güero.” His finger pointed at his drink.

Faraday pursed his lips, not that willing to share his drink, but damn was he curious, “Don’t hog it all.” He warned when he fork it over.

Vasquez snorted softly but nodded anyway. Faraday's eyes zeroed in on the bare neck, laid out on display, when Vasquez tilted his head back, swallowing when he did, watching his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. His eyes snapped back to the man's face when Vasquez passed the bottle back to him, and Faraday quickly chugged down a few gulps of his own to get rid of the weird thought.

The man hummed thoughtfully as he swung one of his hanging legs to and fro, “There was a time when I worked on this ranch–”

“You worked on a ranch?”

Vasquez sighed irritably, “Sí, güero. You think I was born an outlaw?” Faraday put up his hands in a surrendering gesture and motioned him to continue.

Vasquez took a moment to recall what he was going to say, “I worked on this ranch of a rich man who paid his workers too little and pushed them around too much. But that’s common with most of the rich people I ran across. Cabrón didn’t realize a thing when I broke in and took his money. He had these guns, bonito. I figured he would not be missing them so much, so I gave most of the money to those that needed it and dropped off the guns in some other town.”

“Hold on, hold on. You broke in while the chap was in his house?”

Vasquez flashed him a wolfish grin and wiggled his fingers, "Sí."

Faraday's surprised expression morphed into a delighted smirk, "Well, look at you." His eyes darting up and down Vasquez's figure, "And he didn't even hear you?"

“No. I was as quiet as a cat. Or well,” The vaquero rubbed his lips with a hooked finger as he thought about it, “It helped that he was snoring much louder than you were. Shook the whole house.”

Faraday was sure he should be offended here, but he couldn’t help but huff out a laugh, “For sure, since I don’t snore.”

“Segura de que no.” Vasquez let out an amused snort, ignoring Faraday’s protest of him insulting him in Mexican, “It’s your turn, güero.”

Faraday tapped his lips, pretending to be in deep thought, then he forced out a huge, gaping yawn, “Maybe you should hold onto that for next time, vaquero. ‘Cause it’stime for bed!” He quickly laid down and turned away before Vasquez could make sounds of protest. He even started making snoring sounds to play the part, even if he wasn’t fooling anyone.

He could hear the man shuffling around behind him, huffing amusingly. Even if he couldn’t understand what the man was saying, it was something that made him smile fondly to himself. After spending years alone, this was a nice change of pace.

Yeah. He liked this a lot.

**✢✢✢✢**

The men of Rose Creek were  _terrible shooters._ In Goody’s words, absolutely  _harrowing_. These poor people don't even know their right from their left, nevermind up and down. They also seemed to think that a hoe would be a good weapon to go up against a gun. Sure. If they could get in arm's reach before they got pumped with a bellyful of lead. Faraday felt like shooting himself in the foot during the training.

"A razor! Someone brought a goddamn razor as if we were gonna gut beards instead of Blackstones! Pitchforks were bad enough. Actually, pitchforks would be better than a fuckin' razor." Only Billy would make fightin' with a razor look deadly.

He didn't know how Goody did with his batch, but judging from his face when they regrouped, he was sure to say that it was equally saddening.

“They’re farmers, güero. Besides, it’s only the first day.” The bed next to his creaked when someone sat down on it.

He craned his neck to look at his roommate, “And what were you doin’?”

“Woodwork.” Was Vasquez’s reply, “Helping build the barricades. Trabajo simple.”

Faraday hummed, eyes trailing to the man's arms, that was exposed from his rolled-up linen shirt, before averting it elsewhere, "I have no idea what you just said, but I'm gonna say, sí."

Vasquez huffed a laugh, reaching over to turn off the lamp, “Vete a dormir, güero.”

He scrunched up his face, “Now you’re doin' it to be an ass.”

“Learn if you want to understand.” The sound of a pillow hitting a body and an annoyed hiss meant that Faraday’s pillow hit its’ mark. But instead of throwing it back, Vasquez’s arms wrapped around the pillow and turned away, “Gracias, güero.”

Faraday squawked indignantly and scrambled up and over to snatch back his stolen item, “You dirty thief! Give that back!”

“No lo creo. You threw it, güero. Practically gave it to me.” He could hear the amusement and laughter in the man’s voice as Vasquez turned on his stomach to tuck the pillow under his body. Evil.

He practically draped his body over the man as he struggled to tug the pillow this way and that. He hissed, “Give that back, you damn Texican–!” He yelped when Vasquez abruptly rolled over, throwing Faraday off his back. Now Faraday was pinned underneath with Vasquez hovering over him with a mischievous smile stretching across his face.

Faraday could feel the man’s breath on his face as he spoke lowly, “No such thing as a Texican, güero. Eres muy olvidadizo.”

His breath caught in his throat at the way Vasquez spoke. Oh god, what his voice does to a person. Although, he was pretty sure he was just insulted. It just came to his realization that even with the pillow being the only thing separating them. He could still feel how the other man's body easily fitted against his. He was too sober for this.

He could see the man’s mouth curl into a dashing smirk and let out a low chuckle that made the base of his spine tingle, “Cat got your tongue, güero?”

Faraday made a face like someone replaced his whiskey with water, “I keep tellin’ you that I don’t speak Mexican, jackass.”

It was Vasquez’s turn to shout when he tumbled to the ground with a loud thud. The man spat out Spanish curses like bullets as Faraday snatched up his pillow in triumph.

“Hah!” He stepped over Vasquez, miraculously dodging the man’s attempts to trip him and hurriedly climbed back to bed. He was damn fucking glad it was too dark to see the heat on his face. He cackled when Vasquez smacked him with his pillow in revenge.

Ok, so fuck him if he was feeling more gleeful over this than he ought to be. It took him longer than it should to finally slip into a blissful sleep.

**✢✢✢✢**

Faraday woke up with a start, bolting up from his bed as his fingers instantly digging into his mark. His breathing came in short gasps with violent tremors that shook his frame. It took him a minute to realize he was awake, but it still didn't quell the jitters bouncing in this gut or the phantom pain of fingers ripping into his neck. Vasquez was already stirring from the commotion when he was scrambling out of bed and shuffling through his belongings.

“...Güero?” The man’s murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

“Toilet.” He muttered hastily. He snapped his holsters on and hustled out of the room before Vasquez could question it too much.

Judging at how it was still dark out, he hasn’t been asleep for long. Just fucking great.

Jack nickered softly and pranced around his stall when Faraday appeared within eyesight, only quieting down when he came close enough to shushed him. Faraday stroked his snout, running his hand along Jack’s mane as the horse snorted. The familiar weight of his mam’s scissors was in his pocket, along with a bottle of booze he managed to swipe on the way out.

He sighed and lowered himself onto the ground with Jack following, pressing up against him in a comforting way that he sometimes does. Faraday smiled, giving his horse another pat. Together they sat while Faraday drank. By the time the sun brushed against the sky, Faraday finally drifted back to a few hours of restless sleep.

Faraday can say that he was not in the most fabulous mood the following day. He was afflicted with the most irritating headache of all times, and the annoying tug, tug, tugging of the bond made him torn between shooting himself in the chest and following wherever his bond was telling him to go just to make it stop. Neither of those choices was appealing.

He snapped at anybody within five minutes of conversing with them and stormed about the place like a loose bull in a china shop. Even Vasquez got fed up with him when he, unfortunately, crossed paths with him. That ended with Faraday insulting the man and being such a pain in the ass that Vasquez stormed away, muttering Spanish phrases under his breath.

“Penhoe to you, too, chingado!” Faraday shouted after him. He snorted when he received a glare before Vasquez disappeared from sight. Yeah, whatever.

Faraday frowned, rubbing his chest at the uncomfortably sharp twinge but brushed it off as he took another swig of his bottle, grateful for the burn that trailed down his throat.

“Alright, Faraday, that’s enough.” A hand reached over and snatched the bottle from his grip.

"Hey!" He tried to grab the bottle back, but Sam passed it over to Horne, who tucked it in his vest as he walked away, much to Faraday's dismay.

“You’ll get it back when you get your act together. Now come with me.”

Faraday tried to protest, but from Sam's tone and expression, he begrudgingly conceded, "Fine." He gritted out. He stubbornly refused to look at the man as they walk all the way out to the fields where Goodnight was training the townsmen.

Although his ailments diminished a tad as the training dragged on, he still refused to give Sam a glance. He winced when the men’s shots missed for the nth time.

 _“Jesus wept."_  He muttered around the cigar he was smoking, "Statistically speakin', they should've hit somethin'." Aside from the ground and sky, that is. One of the men misfired for the second time during Goodnight's lecturing, and Faraday had to adjust his posture, settling himself for a show, "Oh, here we go."

“That’s the second time for you. Go make me some eggs.” Goodnight quickly cut the man off as soon as he started to pull up an excuse, “No! I don’t wanna hear it! Have a nice afternoon. You’re gonna point– You’re gonna point that rifle at me?”

The man quickly pointed the gun away as he bent down to grab his hat, “No, sir.”

Faraday tilted his head at the man before he could walk away with the rifle, “Leave your rifle here.” He sort of tuned out most of Goodnight’s lecture until he started yelling to hate what you’re firing at.

Strong words for a legend that can't shoot. Faraday finally looked over at Sam, wondering what the man was thinking. Because how he saw it, Goodnight was nothing but a liability despite all the false bravado he puts up. And he was going to get them all killed if he can't get back up on his horse.

“Goddamned sons of bitches!”

He took one last puff of his smoke before flicking it away, reaching for the rifle beside him, “These men need inspiration!” He called out catching the others’ attention, “Inspire ‘em. You’re Goodnight Robicheaux, after all.” He watched as the man’s face fell slightly, expression hardening when Faraday shoved the rifle towards him. And ain’t that sad? No chinaman to save him today. Faraday slipped into an easygoing grin as he waited for Goodnight to take the weapon, “Ain’t ya?”

“I can hit straw. We need the lead.” Goodnight stared at him straight on, composure refusing to crack, but Faraday wasn’t fooled.

“23 confirmed kills at Sharpsburg.” He turned to look at the other men, “This is one of Conley's Confederate Sharpshooters. Dubbed, The Angel of Death! Do what he does. He’s a legend.” He held up the rifle to Goodnight again with a challenging look to his eyes compared two the man’s frozen rabbit look. Faraday’s eyes searched for the man that was once in the stories that people so much admired but finding nothing but a former shell of what was once Goodnight Robicheaux. Such a sight tickled at his ire.

Faraday pushed the weapon against the man’s chest as he added with a quieter voice, “Or is that all you are?”

Goodnight huffed a nervous laugh, eyes darting to Sam as if he could get him out of this pickle. As expected, he doesn’t. Surprisingly, it didn’t take Goodnight long to snatch the rifle out of his hands, getting into stance as he prepared the rifle.

Shot after shot, Goody fired continuously until the dummy’s head fell clean off, drawing cheers and impressive whoops from the men that watched. He threw the weapon back at Faraday in a Goodnight way that said, ‘There. I’ve done it.’ He walked away from training without so much of a goodbye, clearly heading to the comforting arms of Billy Rocks.

Faraday stared down at the rifle, feeling highly unsatisfied. Sure Goody did prove that he was still able to shoot, but a sack of straw is different from a sack of meat with a beating heart.

“Told ya.” He turned to address the townsmen again, “Y’all go home. Polish your rifles. Maybe the glint will scare ‘em off.” Faraday turned to leave, dropping the weapon on the wagon. He turned his head slightly to meet Sam’s stare with a look, but Faraday quickly broke eye contact and left.

And if he sauntered away with a bit more weight to his step, no one was saying anything. Faraday's eyes followed Goodnight's back for a good few seconds before he headed for the saloon.

If Faraday breathed in deeply, he could catch the faint tang of blood.

“Six pounds of pressure.” Faraday murmured, fingers resting around the handles of his guns, “Six pounds of pressure.”

**✢✢✢✢**

Goody held his rifle steady as each one of his bullets hit their mark, timing it with the explosions. Billy’s hand was a firm anchor against his back. Breathe, shoot, breathe, cock it, aim, shoot. Breathe. In the distance, he heard the owl cooed mockingly, something rang in his ears before the hand tightening on his shoulder brushed it away.

“You’re alright, Goody?” Billy’s voice was like a sweet serenade in his ears, piercing through the demons of his mind.

He slid his weapon into its’ holster and put his hand over the one on his shoulder, “I will be, mon cher.”

Billy twisted his hand to curl his fingers around Goody’s wrist, sending the calming warmth of reassurance through their bond. Goody gave his hand a quick squeeze before they parted as the group made their way out to the miners.

He pointedly avoided looking at Bogue’s men that lay on the ground and instead, focus on Sam’s voice and the miners below them. It was a sort of numbness that washed over Goody as he watched them. Faraday threw his bottle of whiskey to one of the miners and saw the grateful look nodded back at the boy.

Billy’s presence brushed up against his mind gently, being his strong anchor to ground him. His lover brushed against his shoulder as he walked past him to dramatically kick open the door.

Goody smiled fondly and rolled his eye. Showoff.

A flicker of smugness spiked through their bond, making him laugh. Then, he caught a sight that would’ve been missed if he had blinked. In fact, he wondered if he even imaged it. Faraday’s expression almost seemed to sour considerably when he looked at them. When he looked again, the Irishman was grinning eagerly.

“I always wanted to blow somethin’ up.”

Faraday was full of jokes and laughs as he always was, so Goody had to wonder what that was. Billy's eyes cut to his questioningly. He shook his head and brush it aside. He gave the miners a nod and got back on his horse once the dynamite was loaded. Time to get back to Rose Creek.

Goody took a deep breath and exhaled, feeling his rifle tapping against his thigh.

_Breathe._

**✢✢✢✢**

Faraday heavily ignored the blatant shows of affections that their only pair of soulmates gave off. Maybe he should stay away from the two of them if he was going to get this riled up just looking at them.

He caught sight of Vasquez, staring up at a noose, deep in thought. He rode over to him and nudged his leg, "You alright?" That snapped Vasquez out of his stupor. He grunted and moved away to follow the others as they went back to town.

It wasn’t until they were back in their rooms that Faraday realized that Vasquez was still mad at him. So, it  _may_ be his fault– ok, he was totally at fault.

He looked over at the man-sized bundle on the bed, though he doubted that Vasquez was genuinely asleep. He cut and shuffled his cards as he thought of what to do.

“Hey, hey.” When Vasquez didn’t respond, Faraday lashed out at the bundle with his foot, drawing a growl and a glare that could kill from the man. Undeterred, Faraday’s grin widened as he presented the man with a dramatic flourish of spreading out his cards, “Pick a card, amigo.”

Vasquez let out a grumble of sorts before properly responding, “Esta noche no. Go to sleep.”

“Y’know I don’t understand a lick of Mexican.” He nudged the man’s side with his foot, “Come on, Vas. The night’s still young, just a small magic trick or two.”

"Move your foot, or I'll bite it off." Came another growl. Not doubting that Vasquez would go through with his promise, Faraday set his foot down.

“Come on, Vas. Pick a card. It’ll amaze you, I swear.”

He snorted at Faraday's claim and shifted to expose more of his head, “Will you shut up if I play along, cabrón?”

Faraday squinted his eyes thoughtfully, making a sound of consideration that stretched longer than necessary.

Vasquez muttered something in his mother tongue before sitting up and snatched up a random card much to Faraday’s glowing glee.

Faraday gathered his cards back into a deck, “Now take a good look at your card and then put it back into the deck, but don’t let me see it.” He made such a show of covering his eyes that Vasquez snorted at Faraday's antics.

"Now, with a shuffle and a cut…" Faraday grinned as he cut the deck and shuffled it, reperforming his trick with the Babbington brothers. He flipped the top card and showed it to the vaquero with a suave look on his face, "Here's your card."

“That’s not my card, cabrón.”

His face scrunched up as he flipped the card over to take a good look at it, "It's not? Hold on." He leaned back and began shuffling through his cards to find the man's card much to Vasquez's amusement. Faraday tried again, and then a third time, each one was negative.

“It’s comin’, Vas. This time for sure.” Faraday stuck his tongue out the corner of his lips as an act of concentration.

Vasquez sighed, “Your trick isn’t working, güreo. You can stop now.”

“No, wait!” He plucked a card from the deck and presented it to him, “Your card!”

This time, Vasquez rolled his eyes, “No.”

Faraday pouted as he shuffled through the deck again, “Ok, hold on.”

“Dios mío. You’re embarrassing yours–”

Faraday suddenly dramatically gasped, “I know what it is.”

“Mierda.” But figuring it wouldn’t hurt to humor Faraday so he could get some shuteye, Vasquez tiredly asked, “What is it?”

Faraday’s eyes suddenly flashed mischievously, his grin a little too sharp that got Vasquez suspicious. Faraday leaned forward, fingers outstretched towards Vasquez, brushing against the warm skin of his neck that got the man tense. But with a flick of his hand, Faraday pretended to slide the card out from under Vasquez’s collar.

“Your card…” Faraday slowly turned the card around for the man to see, “Is the Ace of Clubs.”

Vasquez stared at it and then at Faraday and back at the card before he broke into laughter. A deep and wild sound that made the strange feeling in Faraday’s gut jump with warmth and delight.

He cleared his throat as if that would chase the funny feeling away, “Well?”

“No.”

Faraday spluttered and was about to call the man out for being a goddamn liar until Vasquez spoke again.

“I’m joking. Sí, sí.” Vasquez nodded, still snickering for some unknown reason, “That is my card.”

Upset at Vasquez for playing him like that and upset at himself for falling for it, he allowed himself to huff and puff like a petulant child. But his anger subsided as soon he looked up to see Vasquez’s bright smile. He opted to squint at him instead, “Well? Are you impressed?”

“Eh,” Vasquez shrugged, his lips curled into a teasing grin, “It was so-so.”

"So-so??" Oh, he was on. No one called Faraday's tricks just so-so. He was the World's Greatest Magician, next to his other title, the World's Greatest Lover, "I'll show you so-so. I'll leave you so amazed that you would be speechless for days!"

Vasquez snorted, smile sharp and daring, “Bring it on, güero.”

Faraday beamed brightly and put on his best deep voice, “And now for my next trick!”

Vasquez groaned like a dying animal, but the genuine smile on his face told him that he didn’t hate it all that much.

**✢✢✢✢**

The next few days were just endless  _work_. Training the townsmen, digging trenches, and planning battle tactics. It was so hot out that even Horne stripped off his heavy vest. Faraday would groan and moan as he bitched about the weather and labor to anyone that would care to listen.

His favorite part, though, was being the one to decide where to set up the explosive and being paired up with Vasquez made him all the more giddily. He can’t wait to blow these all up.

“Very smart smoking, huh?”

Faraday looked up at Vasquez with a cigar hanging from his mouth. He plucked it out of his mouth and looked around to dump it. He ended up tossing it at the man and watched with childlike glee as Vasquez stomped it out, shooting him an annoyed look mixed with disbelief.

He also ended up hissing and grumbling in annoyance when Faraday draped his sweaty self over the man, whining about the heat and his ‘fair Irish skin’ for the nth time. It was a wonder how Vasquez didn’t put a bullet through Faraday's foot.

“What’s wero mean?” Faraday asked again when they were cleaning up the church.

Vasquez only gives him a small smirk when he boarded the windows, “Maybe I’ll tell you when this is over.” Faraday barked a laugh at the optimism thought and hip-checked him, almost making the man stumble, but Vasquez managed to hold his ground, “Careful, güero, I may miss and hit your fingers instead.” Vasquez waved the hammer in his hand to make his point.

Faraday wiggled his fingers close to his face, “My fingers are too quick for you to even crush ‘em with your lousy speed.”

Vasquez stared at the man’s fingers edging closer as the grin on Faraday’s face grew wider. Then Vasquez's head snapped forward to playfully snap at his fingers, but Faraday jerked his hand back with a squeak.

“What the hell, Vas?!”

The vaquero flashed him a wolfish grin, “I guess I’m still slow. I’ll get them next time.”

“Hell no.” Faraday scoffed, going over to his side of the board to nail it in, “I like all ten of my fingers intact, thank you very much.”

The man snorted and rolled his eyes, “Could’ve fooled me with the cheating you do at cards.”

“Now what’s that s’pose ta mean?” Faraday frowned at him, feeling incredibly insulted, “I have you know that I win fair and square.”

Vasquez raised a curious brow at him, “Nothing’s ever fair with you, güero.”

“Psh. I’ll show you right now.” He dropped his hammer and reached into his pockets for his deck, “A game of cards, you and me.”

Vasquez snorted and gave him a pointed look, “We’re  _working_.”

A taunting smile slipped onto Faraday’s face as he leaned in, “What? Scared to lose and go home with empty pockets, muchacho?”

A low growl rumbled deep in Vasquez’s chest that sent pleasant shivers down Faraday’s spine, “You are playing with fire, güero.”

"Now, what's life without a little excitement?"

“A safe one without the types of trouble you get into.”

Faraday snickered, “That ain’t something an outlaw like you would say, hopping in and out of houses like some Mexican version of a Santa Claus.” He playfully nudged the man, “Where’s your pippin’ red suit, amigo?”

Vasquez rolled his eyes hard enough that Faraday wondered if they were going to pop out at some point in the man's life with all the eye-rolling that he does.

Faraday suddenly realized how close they were. Vasquez had long since stopped working. It’s funny how he just noticed that the man was taller than him by a few inches. Not too tall that he had to crane his neck up to see, though.

His smile slowly slipped off of his face as his eyes took in Vasquez’s features, the arch of his skeptical brows, the curve of his red lips that expose the bright teeth, down to the funny bend of his ears. But it was those dark eyes that drew him in, making him want to reach out and sink deeper in search of what lay beneath the abyss. He wanted to…

His lips parted, “Hey–” A loud squeak and scratching noise made Faraday freeze.

“Güero?”

He heard the confusion in Vasquez's voice, but Faraday was already turning around with bated breath. Something small and grey darted out of the corner and skittered along the edge of the church towards them. But the sight of it was all it took for Faraday to bolt right out of the door, jumping over pews and spitting curses all the way out.

He refused to go back to the church after that.

(He absolutely pretended that he didn’t almost break his neck jumping over pews all because of a rat when Vasquez teased him about it later.)

**✢✢✢✢**

_“Don’t tell Maria about Ethel.”_

It all hit him like a rampaging bull one evening when the five of them were howling over bad jokes and ridiculous stories.

There was a strange gust of relief he felt when he realized that Vasquez didn't actually have a woman named Maria. He thought it was cute how Vasquez bobbed his head side to side with that mischievous smile. It was funny how Vasquez ate like ten starving men, food clinging to his fingers every time that Faraday doesn't know why the man even bothered to use a spoon. He also knew how Vasquez could never stay still, his fingers are always twitching, or his foot would tap the ground if he weren't swinging his legs. And it was charming in that Vas kind of way.

He watched Vasquez as he guffawed and snorted at Goody's extravagant way of telling his tales. Billy sat next to him quietly, offering him a smoke when the man paused for breath. Faraday chuckled, throwing a rag at Vasquez's face as he told him to wipe his disgusting hands.

He was pretty sure the man managed to get food on him, he couldn’t tell because he was already trapping the man’s arm under his arms when Vasquez went in for the attack. Faraday grinned and bit his arm hard enough for him to feel it. He laughed obnoxiously when Vasquez snatched his arm back in disgust, spitting insults at him in his own language.

"Caab-ron, cab-ron." He tried to roll his letters, but alas, he was drunk, and a drunken tongue is an as much help as a sack of sand.

 _“Ay, Dios mío,_  güero, you’re awful!”

His cackling turned into curses when Vasquez nearly shoved him out of his chair after nudging his shoulder harder than necessary. That damn Mexican did it on purpose, he was sure, seeing how he was snickering. Faraday took revenge by stealing the man’s booze leading up to a childish fight of them snatching the jar back and forth before Horne got them to quit it. And with an imposing man like Horne, neither of them wanted to gamble their luck if they pushed it.

Faraday continued to watch Vasquez chatter and nursed his jar of booze as he swung one his legs to and fro like a child. It was at that moment that his thoughts went from ‘Oh.’ to  _‘Oh.’_

He immediately sobered up. His knee painfully hit the table as he quickly excused himself, skedaddling up the stairs as normally as possible to avoid any raised brows.

Once behind closed doors, Faraday dug his hands into his hair and groaned, pacing across the room. Nope, nope, nope. He was not going there. Absolutely not.

Loud laughter jolted him out of his thoughts. He strained his ears, listening to that low, rich sound that mingled with the others, either barking louder or turning into wheezes. He did not dare put a name to the emotion, blooming in his chest.

His fingers dug into the back of his neck as his frustration grew. A familiar, warm voice came to him, ready to utter words of the past, but he shook his head, batting the words away. He didn't want to hear it. This feeling in his chest was probably just the effects of his bond annoying him again.

He got up and dug around his belongings to pull out a bottle of whiskey. He’ll think about it later, for sure. Or just ignore it completely. Some of them may not even make it out alive, so what’s the point? He then proceeded to drown himself in alcohol until he knocked himself out.

**✢✢✢✢**

He woke up at the crack of dawn, tucked in bed with his boots off as well as his holsters. Thankfully, they were hung on the chair, but they were too far away to have been done by his own hands. Faraday shot a quick glance at the culprit sleeping the other bed. Shaking away the annoying thoughts, he got up and quickly got dressed before heading out to the creek.

He managed to avoid getting shot by Horne, handing the bear fish as a tribute. Then he made a mistake of prompting Horne to start praying to God when he was the one that caught the fish. Maybe he should have brought the salt and pepper so he could worship him instead.

Faraday finally settled back down once the fishes were cooked. His eyes darted towards Horne every now and then.

Finally, Horne was done with Faraday’s obvious glances, “What is it, son?”

"Was your wife, your soulmate, or somethin'?"

The blatant question took Horne off guard for a brief moment, but he answered anyway with a nod, "She was. That she was."

Faraday hummed, still blowing on his fish, “What was it like? Being soulmates, that is.”

“Why you do ask?”

"I got no soulmate." Faraday shrugged, "Ain't gonna get one, so I'm curious to know what was it like."

The older man nodded, taking his answer for what it was. His eyes averted to the ground, "It was like becoming whole." Silence fell over the man for a short moment, "Like finding your missing piece, you didn't know you were missing." He reached over and patted Faraday's shoulder, squeezing it in reassurance, "You'll understand once you meet the one."

Faraday resisted saying that he already did. He knew what it felt like in the beginning, but it fell flat near the end. Some bond that was, “You say that as if we’re goin’ to make it through the fight.”

“We may and we may not.”

“And you think you’ll wake up at the pearly gates after death?”

Horne heaved a quiet sigh, “Judgement is in his hands. I’ll go where he deems I go. The important part is that we’re here where he wanted us to be.”

Faraday stuffed a mouthful of white meat into his mouth to avoid saying something that could can him mauled by a bear. He ended up stabbing himself with fish bones as he did so. He washed the whole thing down with a swig of alcohol as both men ate in silence.

Before Faraday spoke up again, “So how do you know that they’re dead?”

Horne gave him a strange look as if wondering why Faraday would want to know such a thing. He sighed, looking wistfully at the trees, “That ain’t something I would want to inflict on anyone.” He said, trailing off.

But Faraday being Faraday, he pressed on, “But what happens?

"Painful. It's a painful process, son." He said simply, tossing the bones at the fire, "A part of you dies with them. You'll feel empty, and it eats at you, festering into something dark if you let yourself drown in it. It's hard to miss, son." His tone sounded a bit regretful, but whatever happened in the past, Faraday could only guess.

“The sure way of knowing is when your mark becomes visible without their touch.” Horne continued. Faraday recalled hearing that some time ago. Horne shifted forward to put out the fire.

Faraday suddenly felt awkward, seeing Horne the way he was now. He looked away from the man, just giving a small hum of recognition, "But what if someone really wants their own soulmate dead? Like killin' ‘em."

Horne turned to give him a puzzled frown, “You can’t kill your own soulmate, son. Not by your own hand anyway.”

Now it was Faraday’s turn to give the man a perplexed look, “What? Why not?”

"The bond prohibits you from doing so. At least, that's what they say. I haven't heard of anyone being able to kill their soulmate." _Or why they would want to,_ was as left unsaid.

Faraday was silent as he poked the ashes with his stick. Then he huffed irritably, "Now that's awfully stupid." He poked at the ashes a little harder, stirring up the still burning embers, "What if someone's soulmate is a bastard that deserves to get a bullet to their head? Or they're rotten to through and through? Are you just s'pose ta sit there and take it? That's goddamn stupid."

He attempted to be nonchalant about it, but something must’ve shown on his face if Horne was giving him that look of concern. Faraday immediately excused himself before Horne could say anything. He didn’t need fucking pity.

He came across Emma shooting a fallen tree across the creek. He whistled and praised her, not that she was impressed in the slightest. He fired five consecutive rounds into the tree in rapid succession. All aiming at the same face within the bark.

“Six pounds of pressure, that’s all it’s required to kill a man.” The final bullet planted itself in the center of the face as he gave her a small warning in case she was having second thoughts, “And they say the nightmares never go away.”

“Those nightmares,” She turned with a small upward curl of one corner of her lips as if she had caught onto a secret, “They keep you up often, Mr. Faraday?”

Faraday could feel the mocking presence of his other half leaning against him, whispering in his ears, sounding like multiple voices instead of one. The gaze of a long-dead man focused on him out the corner of his eye. Faraday knew that if he turned to look, there would be nothing but trees and dirt in that direction.

He had half a mind to say something with just enough bite in return to wipe that smirk off her face. But instead, he offered one last advice, "You might wanna wear some trousers if you're fixin' ta fight."

He might be imagining it, but her smile became a margin softer.

**✢✢✢✢**

Red came back that late afternoon with news for Sam. But the look on Sam’s face and Red’s gestures was all the translation Faraday needed. The toll of the bell settled the weight of their impending death over their shoulders as well as anticipation.

The tugs suddenly became more insistent, urging him to run past the hills. He ignored it, deciding to stand beside Vasquez instead, taking note of how twitchy the man’s fingers were.

Faraday gave him a little nudge, finding some comfort in receiving one in return seconds later.

**✢✢✢✢**

“I can’t.”

“You can get through this, Goody–”

Goodnight immediately cut him off, his nerves were too high-strung against any soothing attempts over their bond, "I'll die a ghastly death, Billy. I'll die tomorrow if I pull that trigger once more. The voice told me so. And for lord's sake, Billy, I don't want to watch you die either. But we can go now." He pleaded, walking up to Billy, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. His desperate hands held onto Billy's tightly, "I don't want you to die here, mon cher."

Billy’s fingers stroked against Goodnight’s wrist, trying to smooth out the gnawing fear in his partner, “These people are counting on us. We’ve gotten this far, we can’t just abandon them after giving them our word.” His grip turned firm when Goodnight’s grip loosen. His voice was gentle but firm, “You can do it, Goody. I know you can.”

Goodnight exhaled shakily, and the bond quieted once more. For a moment, Billy thought he had gotten through to him before the fear spiked in the man, this time stronger.

Goodnight gently tugged his hands out of Billy’s grip, “I can’t… I can’t do it.” Regret shone in his eyes as he backed away. Billy didn’t need their bond to know what the man was thinking.

Billy immediately sprang to his feet and took a step towards him, softly pleading, “Goody,” Don’t–

Goodnight shook his head, stepping back, “I can’t.” He grabbed his hat and took one last look at his lover. Billy stayed rooted where he stood and gave a minuscule shake of his head, hoping that it would be all it takes for the man to change his mind. That he would fall back into his arms where they would lay in bed and wait for tomorrow.

_“Wherever I go, Billy goes.”_

It was painful when Goodnight walked out the door without another word, shooting his hope into pieces right through his chest. The sound of a knife hitting the closed-door echoed softly in the room.

Regrets, apologies, and  _hurt_ roared loudly through their bond. With every step Goodnight took, their connection fade slowly until Goodnight closed the connection completely, leaving Billy in the cold room that was just as empty as the hole in his heart.

By the time he heard the telltale sounds of Goodnight's Adelaide galloping away, Billy had poured himself a glass and started drinking.

**✢✢✢✢**

Faraday couldn’t help but feel some kind of dark satisfaction seeing Billy drinking away his sorrows after Goodnight left. Some soulmate. This just proved that soulmates are nothing but a load of horseshit despite what was told in fairy tales.

“Anybody else wants to leave?” Sam looked at the rest of them, “Now’s the time. Don’t wanna hold no ill will towards ya.”

“What about you?” Vasquez muttered after a pause.

“I? I believe I’ll see this through. These people deserve their lives back.” Sam said as if well practiced straight out of a book.

Faraday looked over at Vasquez, wondering what the man’s decision was. Vasquez chewed on his cigarillo as he gave a little shrug. Surprisingly, he was the first to voice his decision, “I have nowhere else to go.”

Horne spoke up next, “Tomorrow’s going to be a dark day. And it’s going to be darker now that there’s one less of us.”

Faraday absentmindedly spun a card on his finger in an attempt to distract himself from the heavy discussion.

“But to be in the service of others, with men I respect,” Faraday looked up to see Horne looked at him and the rest of them, “Like you all, I shouldn't have to ask for more than that.”

The older man’s little speech made a feeling he dared not name coiled tight beneath his sternum and another, cold and heavy, weighing down in the pits of his gut. He clutched his cards a little tighter, offering no words of jest in the grim atmosphere.

Red’s nod was nearly imperceptible, but it was there. Then he felt the weight of everyone’s stare on him; Sam’s stare was the heaviest. Faraday put on an indifferent attitude and just slip a card back into the deck. It was all the answer Sam needed before he took off to the church.

Everyone else went back inside, leaving Faraday by his lonesome on the porch with only his cards and his thoughts to keep himself company.

He thought back to his conversation with Horne. McCann would be there, he could feel it. He's one of Bouge's men after all. For the first time since they arrived here, he found himself thinking about his other half. But things like why, when, and what didn't matter when guns would be the only thing talking tomorrow. And it certainly didn't matter when they were going to die tomorrow.

He can't bring himself to feel anything but indifference for the potential death of his soulmate despite the uncomfortable twinge in his chest. The slight pressure of the bond tugging him in the direction of the person at the other end of it.

If everything goes according to plan, all of Bouge's men will die, including the robber himself.

He can do this. Whatever happens, he was sure that he could handle it. And then he can finally be free of the oppressive shackles of this idiotic soulmate bullshit.

But what if he can't? Dread sunk slowly in his gut. What if he's stuck like this, dragging around an endless chain? He envied Goodnight for being able to part from his Billy so easily, not looking back once. He envied him for being able to run away so easily, leaving them behind to die.

He was too sober for this. He desperately needed a drink, but with Bogue coming tomorrow, he couldn’t afford to be hungover. He would just have to deal with it and hope he would be allowed a peaceful sleep just this once.

“You’ll hurt yourself if you think too hard, güero.”

His fingers quickly pry themselves from his neck as he looked up, startled to see Vasquez looming over him without a sound. His cards resumed dancing between his fingers after a moment’s pause, “Y’know, where I come from, it’s not gentlemanly ta sneak up on the faint of heart.”

Vasquez’s eyebrow arched amusingly, making the flutters in his chest stir, “Lo siento. I didn’t realize you were so easily frightened. Next time I will walk like you.”

“Like what? Dashingly?” Faraday wiggled his brows.

“Like a drunken bull.”

Faraday couldn't help but laugh even though he would usually be offended, "Guess I have to reign you in the traditional way, eh? Olé, muchacho." He snickered again when Vasquez squatted at him with a chuckle of his own.

“Any reason why you’re joinin’ me out on this lovely night?” Faraday asked once he settled down. He turned his gaze up at the man and wiggled his brows, “Am I that too irresistible?”

Vasquez snorted, “Maybe in your dreams. But no, I thought I should keep you company for a little bit. If you don’t mind, of course.”

He tilted his head at the man, pretending to ponder over the matter, “That depends if you got any offerin’s.”

“That’s a bit of a problem then.” Vasquez’s eyes peered at the window where Billy was still drinking, “Our friend, there, is draining the Saloon dry of every drop.”

"Someone should drag him to bed before he gets too far," Faraday tore his eyes away from the window and focused on reshuffling his cards, "We're already down one man, don't need to add another to the equation."

“Are you offering to do the good deed, güero?”

He snorted loudly, “Hell no. If Billy could take out a bar full of men barehanded, he could murder me with a drunken pinkie. Then we really are down two men.” He couldn’t help but add another comment after a pause, “Granted if Billy doesn’t flee after his soulmate.”

Vasquez’s snickerings stopped as a flicker of surprise darted across his features, “Who?”

Faraday could see the gears in Vasquez's head lighting up when he answered his own question, but he humored him anyway, "Goodnight ‘course! Don't tell me you didn't realize it. Those two don't know a thing about subtlety even if it shot ‘em in the face."

Vasquez huffed a laugh, “And you do?”

He stuck his nose in the air and huffed pretentiously, “I have you know that I can be subtle, I just choose not to.”

"Ah, ya veo." Vasquez merely gave him a skeptical look, clearly not taking his words for it. For a moment, he looked like he was going to say something about it, but thankfully, he doesn't push it. He shook his head, "It is not my place to be poking my head in others' business." He shrugged, "I don't go around wondering who are soulmates."

Faraday hummed thoughtfully, “Right, no soulmate.”

“Or maybe it’s none of my business.” Vasquez grunted around his cigarillo.

He shrugged. Faraday flipped the top card to see what it was. He tucked it back in the deck after seeing that it was the nine of spades, tapping the top of his deck in a stalling way before he decided to just go for it.

“I’ve been wonderin’, hypothetically speakin’–”

“That’s a new word. Did Goodnight taught you that one?”

Faraday shot the grinning man a glare, only serving to make the man light up even more. Ugh, he was lucky that Faraday didn’t feel like getting up to throttle him, “Har, har, har.  _Anyways_ , I’ve been wonderin’  _–_ being bondless and all, say you love a gal who had a soulmate, what would you do?”

The grin faded away from Vasquez's face as he registered the question. He shifted his posture slightly and toed the wood with his boot. It was apparent that he considered this problem before, at least, Faraday thought he had. Then again, he hadn't been thinking about much concerning about soulmates until recently.

Then Vasquez shrugged impassively, “Nothing.”

His eyes shot towards him again, "Nothin'?" Silence draped over them as Faraday stared at him expectantly, waiting for an elaboration. The huff he got in return told him that he was getting one.

“Nothing.” Vasquez confirmed, “There’s no reason for me to chase after her if she has a soulmate.”

“Why not?”

The vaquero gave him a look as if he was asking a stupid question. And true, it did sound silly now that he thought about it, "Because she has a soulmate? No difícil de entender, güero."

“And if she likes you, too?”

Vasquez shook his head, "Still nothing." He continued on as if he knew was Faraday was going to ask, "Even if she likes me, she has a soulmate. In the end, it would not work out, and her soulmate is who she would end up with. So it's best to do nothing."

A small frown etched across Faraday’s face as he pursed his lips. He didn’t like the way this conversation was going, but he honestly didn’t know what answers he wanted to hear. Definitely not what came out of Vasquez’s mouth, for sure, “But what if she hated her soulmate?”

Vasquez tilted his head from side to side, drawing up a small shrug, “I’d heard things like that happens at the start of–”

"But what if her soulmate was a goddamned bastard?!" Faraday abruptly stood up, causing Vasquez to quickly back up, narrowly avoiding a smack to the chin with Faraday's head. Faraday rounded up to him, standing face to face with the confused man, irritation evident on Faraday's face, "What if she really, _really_ wants to be with you and her soulmate is a yellow-bellied scalawag? Would you still do nothing?”

If anything, Vasquez's brow scrunched up further in confusion as he tried to understand what he did to incur the man's ire, but the impatient look on Faraday's face indicated that he demanded his answers soon.

He struggled to find an answer that wouldn’t set Faraday off. He sighed, “No lo sé. I don’t know. I wouldn’t– I–” Vasquez struggled to find the words, “There isn’t anything that I could do. Soulbonds are tricky.”

Faraday exhaled harshly through his nose. Soulbonds, soulbonds, soulbonds. It’s always those cursed  _soulbonds._ Well, fuck those, "Just shoot the bastard in the face, and you'll get the girl. I’m sure she would be grateful.” He said irritably.

It was Vasquez's turn to huff irritably, not understanding why Faraday was getting so worked up. He looked like he tried to come up with excuses why it wouldn't work out, but all Vasquez could say was a typical, "It's not that easy, güero."

“Seems easy enough if she wants to do it for you.” Faraday grumbled.

Vasquez looked away, sighing again before looking back at Faraday. His expression softening a tad, “I’m not that horrible of a person to force someone to break their soulbond because of me, güero. I wouldn’t want them to suffer the consequences for me.”

Faraday squinted at him, “Even if their soulmate is an asshat?”

“ _Madre de Dios._ " Vasquez ran a hand through his hair. Being bondless, he could only understand so much about how soulbonds work. Faraday knew that, but he couldn't help feeling as if Vasquez wasn't telling him everything, "The only way is, as you said, shooting him in the face. But I heard that sometimes, if you kill one of the two, the other follows." He huffed and rolled the cigarillo between his fingers, "As I said, I wouldn't want them to suffer the consequences."

That shut him up. Faraday shifted away with a complicated expression on his face. Vasquez’s words did nothing to soothe away the hopeless pit in his chest. If anything, it made him feel all the more cursed. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore.

Faraday scoffed, mockingly patting the man’s vest, “Well, ain’t that awfully honorable of you, muchacho.” As he walked past the window, he noted that Billy was no longer there. The assassin was probably was helped to his room by Red and Horne. Faraday made a big show of yawning and stretching his limbs, “I dunno about you, but it’s time for me to turn in. Big day tomorrow and all.”

If Vasquez realized the abrupt change of subject, thankfully, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he only continued chewing on the cigarillo.

Faraday couldn’t resist adding, “Oh, and Vas? Thanks for the offerin’.” He held up the fresh cigarillo he palmed from Vasquez’s vest. He watched in glee as Vasquez’s eyes widened in surprise with his hands patting himself over. Faraday planted a quick kiss on the cigarillo and winked before darting upstairs to avoid the wrath of Vasquez’s hands.

But not without catching the small murmur of Spanish, “Tú serás mi muerte.” Whatever that means. But judging from the tone, Vasquez wasn’t going to murder him tonight.

The mirth fell from his face as Vasquez’s words ran through his head again. He rubbed the back of his neck, desperately needing a drink but unable to do so.

“I can do this. It's fine.” He muttered. And maybe, if he said it enough times, his heart would believe it.

He listened to the sounds of Vasquez’s slow breathing that night. He found it unfair that the man could sleep so easily while he was having unnecessary bouts of insomnia. So he spent the time thinking. A thing his mam often say is trouble where he was concerned.

He shifted onto his side to stare at Vasquez's sleeping form. His gut clenched uncomfortably at the thought of the others dying tomorrow, of Vas dying. A shift from Vasquez stopped his thoughts right there when he unknowingly turned on his side, facing Faraday. He watched the slow rise and fall of his body for a moment before reaching out with a finger to trace his features in the air.

Faraday stopped at his hands, wondering what it felt like. It was tempting to reach out and take Vasquez’s hand into his. He doesn’t, partly because that would be creepy. He turned his very empty hand towards him, clenching it when he finally came to a decision.

He shut his eyes as sleep finally crept into his vision.

The sharp tugs of his soulbond continued to be annoyingly persistent.

**✢✢✢✢**

Surprisingly, Faraday was up before all the others. Part of the reason, he suspected, was the sharp pull of the soulbond that jerked him out of his slumber. Seeing that his own biology wasn’t going to allow him any more sleep, he went ahead and got himself ready to go out to his spot.

He glanced at the still sleeping man, taking in his sleeping features as if this was the last chance he would get. It might as well be so. Some locks of his hair stuck up in weird places, and it was strangely endearing. Faraday let out a small huff of amusement as he reached out with a hand in an attempt to smooth out the mess of a bedhead.

His hand stopped inches from the man’s head when he caught the shift in Vasquez’s breathing, a sign that he was slowly waking up. Not wanting to be caught hovering over the man like a creep, Faraday quickly made his way out the door only to stop halfway as he turned his head to Vasquez again.

He didn’t know what urged him to do it. It wasn’t like it must be kept a secret or all that jazz. But there was a game he was playing, long before they arrived at Rose Creek. It was just a small gamble against himself. Faraday, like most men, played to win.

So he didn’t know what prompted him to utter it in the quiet room, “Joshua.” His fingers curled around the pearl-handled scissors in his vest, “It’s Joshua.”

He didn’t stick around to see if Vasquez was awake to hear him.

He went by Jack to give him a simple pat and food before he went his way, not wanting to linger any longer than he had to. But he hoped the townspeople would treat Jack well when he’s gone.

The sun touched the sky when Faraday lighted his cigar. Anticipation and dread strummed in tune with his heart, making him almost vibrate with barely contained energy. He exhaled as a gentle wind blew through without a thought for the bloodshed that would occur. By now, he was sure everyone would have taken their positions.

A strange silence settled in the air as if the Earth was waiting in suspense. One of his legs jerked involuntarily, his bond was screaming at him to move, but he planted them firmly onto the ground. Not today. Not ever.

He gave his group of misfits one last thought as hooves ripped through the ground with vengeance. Explosions shook the ground seconds later. He spun his guns in his hands, not quite as smoothly like when Vasquez does it but smoothly enough. Faraday smiled at the thought of that before exposing himself from hiding.

His smile grew into a wild grin as he let his excitement take over when it was his turn to blow shit up.

**✢✢✢✢**

Alright, maybe that was too much excitement.

Faraday's knees hit the ground when a sharp pain erupted from his side. He gasped soundlessly but mostly surprised that someone managed to sneak upon him. Well, at least whoever it was, was a terrible shot.

Jesus wept.

He staggered to his feet and hurried past a stormy looking Vasquez as he tried to staunch his wound. The man was spitting out foreign words like a crackling fire. None of which he ever had hopes of understanding. Leaning against the church, he watched as Vasquez emptied his guns into the bastard that managed to get a lucky shot at him. It was quite flattering to have someone avenge him, he must admit.

“You okay, güero?” Vasquez called out.

Faraday bit back a sardonic remark and said instead, “So far, so good!” Before darting back out to fight. Once Ethel was empty, Faraday swiped up a sawed-off shotgun from a fallen man and continued shooting with it.

“Keep shooting, güerito!”

Well, that's just what he was doing, wasn't he? Then his brain finally caught up with what Vasquez just said. Huh, that was new. He takes it back, Vasquez can continue shouting at him if he keeps using that nickname. But Faraday doesn't tell him that, of course.

He bet five hundred dollars that Billy Rocks reacted first before everyone else.

At the sound of a horse neighing and a man yelling, Faraday turned to see Goodnight and his horse leaping across the fire like some guardian angel. A thought he would laugh about later when he's not currently bleeding out like a pig. But Jesus, he takes back every bad thing he thought about Goodnight because he was damn glad to see the man. That feeling didn't last too long with what the man had to say next.

"A gatling gun! Get inside! Inside! They got a goddamn gatling gun!" Goodnight hollered as he came to a stop, tossing a rifle at Billy.

If Faraday was feeling any dread at the new, he did a pretty good job of hiding it. Partly because he was still bleeding out and mostly because he just realized how quiet his soulbond was.

"Move, güero!" Vasquez grabbed his arm, and half dragged him back into the church.

Before Faraday could get a chance to lash out at him for rudely yanking him around like some invalid, Vasquez shoved his head against the ground as bullets ripped through the church. Faraday was ruffling through his pockets to reload when he felt Vasquez shift against him. A cry of pain erupted from the man as he fell back down. Faraday’s heart nearly stopped as his eyes darted up, expecting to see bullets in fatal spots only to see Vasquez clutching his arm.

Faraday cursed and snaked his hand around to try to put pressure against the wound, “ _Dumbass!_ ” He hissed, hiding the tremor of relief that threatened to seep into his voice. Vasquez, graciously, offered no commentary at his insult.

Gunfire finally ceased after a long torturous moment. Faraday pushed himself up as Goody commanded them to stay down. As if he was doing that.

He yanked off his neckerchief and reached for Vasquez’s arm, “Give that here. Figures you would be the fool to try to get up while a fuckin’ gatling gun is goin’ off.”

Vasquez eyed his side with a frown but made no move to shrug off Faraday’s hands, “You need that more than I do, güerito.”

Faraday snorted, ignoring the torturous pain that flashed through him when he shifted to tie the fabric firmly around the man's arm, "Yeah, like this would fit around my waist–" His head snapped up when the children's screamings reached his ears. Spotting the smoke coming out of the build they hid the children and women, he immediately sprung to his feet as Billy tried to get him to stay down, but he darted past him and Goodnight anyway, ignoring Vasquez's and Billy's calls.

“The children!”

**✢✢✢✢**

Billy yanked Goody into a kiss as soon as he got up on the steeple, making it no longer than five seconds before he let go, “I knew you’ll come back.” He said breathlessly, smiling as he slipped ammo into the rifle. Oh, he was still angry at the man, but despite it all, he was incredibly glad they were together again. He didn't feel so lost and alone with Goody by his side, in their little spot up in the steeple like nothing else existed. 

"Oh, you did, did you?" Goody laughed, a wave of curiosity and sheepishness danced through their bond in a way that had Goody written all over it.

Billy smugly held up his lover’s flask from his vest, “You forgot this.”

The two of them broke into laughter as unspoken words swirled between them.

**✢✢✢✢**

"So far, so good," Faraday repeated with a breathy laugh. Which was true, his side hurt like a bitch, but it wouldn't kill him yet. But that gat was another story, "Sam, we gotta do somethin' about that gun."

And then Sam went ahead and told him that he had paid off his debt. Probably just humoring him with his constant claims of being here because of Jack. That was partly true.

Maybe it was the blood loss that made his head woozy enough to think of something so suicidal. It certainly wasn’t all the righteousness crap that Emma talked about. His fingers brushed against something in his pocket. A little whisper spoke of redemption in his ears. As tempting as that was, that wasn’t him.

Faraday was a gambler, and he played through till the end, "Well, you owe me."

The uncharacteristic look of surprise on Sam’s face would’ve made him laugh if it didn’t hurt so much to just breathe, although he failed to resist cracking a grin. Sam quickly got a hold of himself to daringly ask the question, “What’s that?”

His grin softened a margin, giving Sam one last word, “Cover.”

Faraday gave no other warning as he bolted back out into the fight with Sam joining him seconds later. Gunshots behind him each hit their mark as well as the ones above him.

He ran, shooting every obstacle in his way. He ran and stole a man's horse after killing him, swinging himself on as he heard Vasquez cheering for him.

“¡Ándale, güero!”

Snapping the reins, he urged the horse to run as fast as it could.

“Ride, Faraday, ride!”

His small heart swelled at that moment, riding out across the fields with men he trust protecting his back and their encouragement. He wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.

He refused to think about the silence that fell behind him as the gatling gun tampered off. Faraday was never much of a prayer, but he spared a few prayers for the others with each man he took down as he got closer to his goal, ignoring the impact of each bullet that hit him in return.

It was the final bullet to the chest that made him lose his grip and slowly toppled backward. Or that’s how it seemed from there on out. He hit the ground in what felt like long seconds. His eyesight was already fuzzy at the edges, slowly darkening.

It was so damn disappointing, too. He was so close, yet he failed, and now he was lying on the cold, hard ground with nothing left to give to the people that gave him everything. A small breeze brushed by him. He blamed whatever he heard or saw on the lack of blood in his system and a dying man's delusion.

 _“Get up, mo stoirín.”_ A voice urged, her brown hair tickled his nose as she faded away as fast as she came,  _“Get up…”_

 _“Just what are you doing, laying there for?”_ A sharp toe of a boot nudged his limp body. Her hands were at her hips as her forehead crinkled when her infamous frown draped across her face. Her voice was already growing faint,  _“Get your lazy bum up, boy. You still got work to do.”_

A tiny figure slapped his face with her small hands before she, too, faded into a nullity. But it could've easily just been the wind blowing through the valley, brushing over his face.

_“¡Ándale, güero!”_

His lungs sharply inhaled, jerking him from his half-dead state. Faraday stumbled to his feet, grunting as he pushed past the pain and his weakening limbs to walk close to the gat. The men there mockingly gloated him on.

He painfully fell face-first onto the ground when a bullet went through his thigh. He struggled to crawl to his knees as he gave every prayer for this to work, pray for Lady Luck to bless his hands again. He hunched in on himself and kept his head down, making himself seem smaller, harmless. His fingers brushed against the cigarillo that he stole from Vasquez.

A small pang of regret hit him as he held it between his lips. At least he wouldn’t miss him too much.  _It would've never worked,_ he found himself chuckling quietly. He struggled to strike his match, but his limbs refused to work fluidly.

A shadow fell over him as hands held out a light to light the cigarillo, offering him one last smoke before his death. His eyes trailed up to take a good look at the generous bastard and noticed gleefully that he had one eye.

He let his body slump forward, rear end in the air to finish the act, and waited for the tell-tale signs of the man walking away.

_“Learn to know when to keep your head down, boy. It’s not weakness. It’s giving yourself a chance to live on another day for something greater.”_

With a stick of dynamite in his hand, lit and ready to go, he pushed himself back up. His face lit up in delight at the look of horror that crashed over the men’s faces as they recognized what was in his fist.

"I've always been lucky with one-eyed jacks." And Faraday laughed.

He watched as the dynamite spun in the air. In a way, it was a goodbye to anyone willing to look. His world exploded in colors and heat.

Time seemed to slow as he was lifted off his knees. Time only resumed to normal once he hit the ground with more holes in him than he had before. People liked to talk about how a person’s life flash before their eyes in moments of death. He could agree that was true.

He thought about the men at his side, laughing with him and sharing stories. He thought about Vasquez and his warm smile, his low, rough laugh, and the smell of his cigarillo. Pity. He wanted to try to hold Vasquez's hand just once. What a childish wish that is.

Faraday was so busy staring up at the morning sky and wallowing the what-ifs that he didn't notice the sounds of an approaching horse until a dark figure filled his vision. Oh, it looks like he wouldn't have to die alone after all.

 _"Madre de Dios."_ Frantic hands ran up and down his body. He let out a cry when a hand pressed down too hard on an injury. A deep voice cursed and pulled away, "Lo siento. Querido, mírame– look at me, you're going to be ok. Aguanta, vas a estar bien."

It was no use, he tried to tell him as such, but all that came out was a breathless whimper when his injuries didn’t agree with the movement of being picked up.

Vasquez continued murmuring apologies mixed with a few words of his mother tongue despite Faraday’s limited knowledge of the language. Pressed against the man’s chest, he could hear the heavy thundering of Vasquez’s heart, a soothing sound to his ears.

He didn’t tell him how it was getting harder to breathe with each intake of breath, how his eyesight was getting blurrier, eyelids heavier.

Another moan of pain escaped his lips as Vasquez managed to drape him over a horse’s back –his Jack, he soon realized– with the man himself jumping on soon after. The ride was not at all gentle for his wounds, if his constant whimpers were anything to go by.

“Aguanta, ya casi llegamos. No te duermas. Quédate conmigo.”

He would say that he still doesn't understand a lick of Mexican, but he was so tired, and his wounds no longer hurt, so Vasquez didn't have to worry his pretty little head about it. His eyes slid shut, his breathing slowed as he cherished the warm weight of Vasquez's hand on his back, and the strong muscles of Jack underneath him.

As if sensing his resignation, Vasquez grew all the more frantic, “No, no, no. Joshua, por favor. Solo un poco más! No duermas!”

The corner of his lips quirked up ever so slightly, pleased of the sound of his name on the man’s tongue. And he let himself slip away with that final thought.

“Doctor! I need a doctor!”

Faraday was thirty-three when he blew something up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I got my translations either off reverso or google. So if there's any mistakes, I’m sorry and do correct me. Thank you!**
> 
> **Mo stoirín:** My little darling   
>  **Güero:** A term for a fair skinned or light haired person.    
>  **Pendejo:** Asshole/Stupid   
>  **Muchacho:** Boy   
>  **Cabrón:** Bastard   
>  **En realidad no:** Not really, no   
>  **Chingado:** Fucker   
>  **Bonito:** Pretty/Beautiful   
>  **Segura de que no:** Sure you don’t   
>  **Trabajo simple:** Simple work   
>  **Vete a dormir:** Go to sleep   
>  **Gracias:** Thank you.   
>  **No lo creo:** I don’t think so   
>  **Eres muy olvidadizo:** You’re very forgetful   
>  **Mon cher:** My dear   
>  **Esta noche no:** Not tonight   
>  **Dios mío:** My god   
>  **Mierda:** Bullshit/Shit   
>  **Amigo:** Friend   
>  **Lo siento:** I’m sorry   
>  **Ah, ya veo:** Ah, I see   
>  **No difícil de entender:** It’s not hard to understand.   
>  **Scalawag:** Mean, rotten or worthless person   
>  **No lo sé:** I don’t know   
>  **Madre de Dios:** Mother of God   
>  **Tú serás mi muerte:** You will be the death of me.   
>  **Querido, mírame.:** Dear, look at me.   
>  **Aguanta, vas a estar bien.:** Hold on, you’re going to be fine.   
>  **Aguanta, ya casi llegamos. No te duermas. Quédate conmigo.:** Hold on, we’re almost there. Don’t fall asleep. Stay with me.   
>  **Por favor. Solo un poco más! No duermas!:** Please. Just a little bit longer! Don’t sleep!


End file.
